4" 

This  book 
is  presented  to 
Illinois  Wesleyan 
University  by 
PRESIDENT 
MINOR  MYERS /JR 


ILLINOIS  WlSLlYAN  UMIV.  LIBRARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/beautifulgateothOOches 


THE 


BEAUTIFUL  GATE, 


dtjjfr  ®ahs. 


BY 

CAROLINE  CHESEBRO’, 

A.rTHOE  OF  “DEEAMLAND,”  “ ISA,  A PILGEIMAQE,”  ETO. 


NEW  YORK  AND  AUBURN: 

MILLEK,  OETON  & MULLIGAN. 

New  York:  25ParkEow. — Auburn:  lOT  Genesee-st. 

1855. 


PS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  fifty -five, 

BY  MILLER,  ORTON  & MULLIGAN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Northern  District  of 
New- York. 


auburn: 

MILLER,  ORTON  & MULLIGAN, 


STEKEOTYPEES  AND  PRINTERS. 


CONTENTS 


The  Beautiful  Gate,  . 

I. 

7 

A Story  of  the  Cross, 

H 

H 

82 

III. 

The  Little  Street  Singers, 

. 110 

The  Pink  Shell  and  the 

IV. 

Sea  Weed, 

118 

Little  Alice’s  Prayer, 

V. 

. 141 

The  Town  Pump,  . 

VI. 

• ♦ 

. . 162 

The  Fragrant  Artificials, 

VII, 

* f 

. . 169 

VIII, 

The  Bell  Ringers, 

, . 181 

The  Robin  in  the  Swamp, 

IX. 

. 201 

The  Garden, 

X. 

• • 

, . 209 

The  Trumpet  Floweb, 

XI. 

. . 221 

TO  THE  CHILDREN 


OF 

Brotj^er  antr  Sister: 

Not  long  ago,  in  the  pleasant  summer  time,  I inscribed  this  little  book  to 
yon, — and  when  I made  the  offering,  it  was  to  me  as  if  I had  gathered  & 
bunch  of  flowers  from  my  heart  for  you ; from  the  furrowed  field  of  my  heart 
— I will  not  yet  awhile  presume  to  call  it  a garden.  Since  then,  dreary 
winter  days  have  fallen  upon  us,  and  a great  shadow,  that  will  never  pass 
away  from  your  Grandfather’s  house. 

You  will  not  send  me  from  your  distant  homes  any  wondering  look — you 
will  not  be  surprised,  I know,  when  I take  back  thebouquet  I gave  you,  and 
lay  it. — no  I I will  not  say  upon  A Grave.  She  who  has  gone  from  me — 
from  our  household — to  “the  country  far  away’”  is  alive  forever  more,  we 
all  know,  and  we  will  never,  never  think  of  her  as  dead. 

To  her  dear  memory  who  gave  me  courage  and  the  heart  to  labor,  I must 
inscribe  this  little  volume.  Do  any  of  you  ask  me  why?  She  was  the  joy 
of  my  childhood,  and  the  best  friend  of  my  later  years — the  melody  and 
sunlight  of  my  life.  And  therefore  do  I dedicate  the  book  written  with  a 
thought  of  you, 

TO  THE  DEAR  MEMORY 

OP 


^ ■'  i.»  n H a j I-  R o a a 

‘^-.v  "t 

■ 


Sj  ft:  1'?J'4.  .f^i|  t -'^i-  *'  ^V,'-  #<■  ^r.:*  . * . '..;’ J -f  ttii# 

^♦v  C^ftV>lV'?A  £:■  ..  ^ - . ».■:  -i 

f fr*'  “rthA-y  ■ 4St.‘  v^V 


'Mr  f ' 


,i^!' ' 'M  ^*(1  "I  V r - 


,,  , . jr^Q/|i  >3?/ 4‘'?'/ ’ 

;4p-  • 


? j-  9'  - At 

^ - f*\^-  ti.'i'!^  I Jj-  'O'^'  ■‘vH'I  -.»-■ 


■ i 


Y<jv^  •■■  ;v  ; ’./  I 


& -js.  - ,::4^i'<>--  /’fik'fE  fijf*-ii  . ..=:-  ; Of)  !iia<  ;>'  yX  r r :».f^s 

II;.  ' - 5^  '.ov^  is  ^.r,  ^ 

; >R,»  *r'  ,V  ;y»”l3ti,j^  ^af4*‘r4  T ;| 

■•;.  r £f,^W  "if  ii-ct:, 


"■0^: 


>«i  i ■ 


'C-: 


'ia''’ 

«i.v 


-■’■^  L-  - 


/JTi  ■ 


XlJ  '/i  ^ 'v 


Wi 


\^-  ■ 


®|£  §tautifui  Suit 


INY  the  Poet  was  born  in  the  coun- 
try. Thrice  blessed  are  they  who 
have  the  beautiful  country  for  their 
birth-place.  Now  I know  there  is  not  one  among 


8 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


you  but  will  say  the  same  thing.  If  there  is, 
from  my  heart  I pity  you ! Josiah,  the  wood- 
cutter, was  his  father;  and  just  on  the  border 
of  a forest  stood  their  cottage  home. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  about  this  cot- 
tage. It  was  built  of  wood,  like  any  other  little 
house : it  had  never  been  painted,  but  for  all 
that,  it  had  a good,  substantial  color  of  its  own 
— for  the  sun,  and  the  rain,  and  the  wind  had 
very  kindly  clubbed  together  and  given  it  a 
good,  durable  color  of  their  own  making,  with- 
out a cent  of  cost.  Under  the  edges  of  the  old 
roof,  like  a ragged  sort  of  fringe,  hung  long  rows 
of  swallows’  nests  — a queer  sort  of  ornament 
for  a cottage!  — and  what  a chattering  those 
birds  did  keep  up.  And  the  little  windows  — 
they  were,  indeed,  a sight  to  see,  such  odd  little 
breaks  in  the  wall  they  looked  like  — with  panes 
of  glass  bright  as  diamonds,  made,  one  might 
think,  for  bird’s  eye  views,  rather  than  old  Josi- 
ah’s  and  Kitty’s  eyes. 

Just  under  the  moss-covered  roof  was  a garret 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


9 


chamber,  in  which  Tiny  slept,  with  the  birds  so 
near  him,  and  the  shadow  of  the  great  forest  over- 
shadowing him.  There  was  nothing  remarkable 
about  the  cottage,  I repeat,  but  Tiny  thought 
there  wasn’t  a home  like  it  in  the  whole  world, 
and  in  fact  much  the  same  thought  Josiah,  who 
was  himself  only  a Tiny  of  larger  and  rougher 
growth.  I wonder  if  you  understand  how  that 
could  be?  Yes!  a great  house  was  it  in  the 
wood-cutter’s  eyes.  Perhaps  you  will  think  be- 
cause he  was  an  ignorant,  stupid  old  creature, 
who  had  always  lived  in  the  woods,  who  had 
never  seen  anything  of  the  world,  or  the  grand 
houses  people  build.  But  that  is  your  mistake. 
Tiny  the  first,  I mean  old  Josiah,  was  born  in  a 
city,  and  there  he  had  lived  a great  many  years ; 
and  he  had  seen  enough  of  crowds  and  palaces  to 
satisfy  him.  You  are  thinking  now  how  he 
could  possibly  imagine  his  humble  cabin  in 
the  country  such  a wonder ! Do  n’t  you  know 
it  was  his  home — and  that  his  own  hands 
had  built  it  when  he  was  a young  man,  and 


10 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


thinking  of  Kitty  for  his  wife  ! Now  you  nn- 
derstand. 

On  the  border  of  the  great  forest  stood  this 
cottage  home.  Neither  about  this  forest  was 
there  anything  remarkable,  excepting  to  the  three 
persons  who  lived  in  its  great  shadow.  Nobody 
in  the  world  knew  so  well  as  Josiah  how  much 
those  mighty  oak  and  maple  trees  were  worth  — 
and  when  he  swung  his  axe  there,  he  seemed  as 
proud  of  them  as  if  they  were  his  children,  and 
he  seemed  to  love  them,  too,  nearly  as  well  as 
he  loved  his  Tiny.  They  had  a way  of  talking 
to  him  that  he  liked,  for  he  was  not  a deaf  man, 
nor  yet  a stupid  man,  and  he  understood  the 
talk  of  the  trees  as  well  as  any  great  poet  that 
you  ever  heard  of. 

Also  to  Josiah’s  wife  and  Tiny’s  mother,  Kitty, 
it  was  a remarkable  forest.  Would  she  ever 
forget  the  morning  when  she  lost  her  way  there, 
and  the  wood-cutter  helped  her  to  find  it  again  ? 
She  was  a young  girl  then.  J osiah  was  much 
older  than  she.  I dare  sav  there  was  more  than 

t/ 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


11 


one  gray  hair  in  his  head  at  that  very  time  — 
they  had  loved  each  other  ever  since  that 
morning. 

But  more  wonderful,  far  more  wonderful,  than 
either  to  his  father  or  his  mother,  was  that  great 
dark  forest  without  paths,  to  the  poet  Tiny. 
Not  only  because  innumerable  singing  birds 
built  their  nests,  and  laid  their  eggs,  and  hatched 
their  young,  and  taught  them  how  to  fly  there. 
Not  only  because  multitudes  of  flowers,  gay  and 
beautiful,  and  like  the  stars  in  number,  blos- 
somed there  — nor  yet  because  a river,  with 
waves  blue  like  the  sky,  down  which  floated 
snow-white  swans,  ran  past  the  cottage,  dancing 
through  the  forest. 

But  because  — now  be  patient — I intend  to 
tell  you  why  it  seemed  so  wonderful  to  him,  but 
I must  begin  again  at  the  beginning. 

Tiny  was  born  in  the  cottage  that  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  forest,  I said. 

There  he  lived,  flrst  in  the  shape  of  a little  in- 
fant that  lay  helpless  in  its  mother’s  arms,  dream- 


12 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


ing  pretty  dreams  wliich  were  like  riddles  to  him 
and  he  could  not  guess  their  meaning  — (indeed 
I may  as  well  say  it,  he  was  all  his  life  finding 
out  their  meaning,  and  perhaps  he  did  not  quite 
satisfy  himself  on  that  score  till  the  day  of  his 
death.)  Then  he  lived  there  as  a creeper  about 
the  cottage  fioor,  when  he  sat  on  the  door  step 
listening  to  the  birds  and  understanding  all 
they  said,  the  chatty,  merry  little  singers  in 
their  songs,  as  readily  as  his  father  understood 
the  conversations  of  the  oaks  and  maples. 

That  time  passed  away,  and  he  was  a baby  no 
longer,  but  a gentle  boy  with  golden  hair  that 
curled  like  an  angel’s,  so  his  mother  thought ! — 
a happy  little  boy,  whose  blue  eyes  had  so  much 
of  heaven  in  them  that  you  never  would  have 
thought  that  they  could  possibly  grow  blind.  A 
loving  and  obedient  child,  who  could  not  have 
believed  that  there  was  any  creature  more  beauti- 
ful on  earth  than  his  dear  mother  when  she  held 
him  m her  arms,  and  bent  her  dear  face  towards 
him  till  his  soft  round  cheek  pressed  close  against 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


13 


her  own — when  she  held  him  so,  kissing  him, 
and  telling  him  old  rhymes  and  tales  which  she 
had  learned  when  she  herself  was  but  a little 
child.  "Well  he  loved  to  listen  to  all  these,  but 
there  was  one  story  better  than  all  the  rest, 
which  she  did  not  tell  so  often,  but  which  Tiny 
remembered  longer  than  any  other ; it  was  the 
story  of  the  Harp  that  hung  up  on  the  kitchen 
wall. 

It  had  hung  there  ever  since  the  day  that  Tiny 
was  born  — a poor  old  pilgrim  gave  it  on  ‘ that 
very  day  to  Josiah  in  exchange  for  a loaf  of 
bread.  By  that  I do  not  mean  that  Josiah  sold 
the  loaf  to  the  poor  old  hungry  pilgrim.  Josiah 
was  too  charitable  to  make  a trade  with  a beg- 
gar. But  the  stranger  said  this  strange  thing  to 
Josiah  — I am  near  to  death  — I shall  sing  no 
more  — I am  going  home.  Keep  my  harp  for 
me  until  a singer  asks  you  for  it,  and  promises 
you  that  he  will  sing  unto  the  Lord  a New  Song. 
Give  it  to  him  ; but  be  sure  before  you  do  so 


14 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


that  he  is  worthy  to  sing  the  song  unto  the 
Lord.’’ 

So  Josiah  had  taken  the  harp  home  with  him, 
and  hung  it  on  the  wall,  as  I said,  on  the  day 
that  Tiny  was  born.  And  he  waited  for  the 
coming  of  the  poet  who  should  have  that  won- 
drous song  to  sing.  No  fairy  tale,  no  tale  of 
kings  and  palaces,  and  beautiful  princesses,  was 
even  half  so  beautiful  as  this,  to  little  Tiny,  sit- 
ting on  his  mother’s  knee,  while  she  narrated  it. 

And  after  those  days,  he  had  lived  there  as  a 
rosy,  laughing  fellow,  who  ran  hunting  for  the 
flowers,  and  chasing  the  squirrels  in  the  forest  — 
who  made  necklaces  of  the  red  wintergreen  ber- 
ries for  his  mother,  while  he  hovered  like  a sing- 
ing butterfly  about  his  father,  as  Josiah  measur- 
ed the  great  oak  logs  into  lengths,  and  chopped 
away  at  them  from  morning  until  night. 

Then,  as  a thoughtful  boy,  who  sailed  his 
paper  boats  upon  the  river,  and  saw  them  go, 
like  beautiful  thoughts,  sailing  on  and  on  to- 
wards the  great  ocean  where  mighty  ships  of 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


15 


thought  sail  to  and  fro  from  one  world  to  another. 
A quiet  lad  who  asked  Josiah  such  strange 
questions  as  puzzled  the  old  man  to  answer — 
who  listened  silently  while  his  father  told  of  the 
merchants’  vessels,  and  the  buildings  which  would 
be  made  from  those  great  pieces  of  timber  — of 
the  churches,  and  the  bridges,  and  the  prisons, 
of  ware-houses  and  docks,  pleasure  boats  and 
pirate’s  cutters,  and  ships  engaged  in  the  slave 
trade,  and  mighty  men-of-war.  How  silently 
Tiny  listened  while  his  father  told  of  these 
things!  And  while  he  listened,  silently  he 
thought,  and  thought,  and  thought. 

Then  he  grew  into  another  sort  of  fellow. 

Still  more  quiet,  still  more  earnest,  brave  and 

thoughtful,  who  had  his  own  secret  thoughts 

about  the  old  Pilgrim  and  the  Harp  that  hung 

upon  the  kitchen  wall.  He  did  his  work  in 

those  days  in  silence.  His  work  I said  — for 

there  was  no  room  in  that  little  cottage  for  a 

pair  of  idle  hands.  But  he  did  not  only  work 

with  his  hands.  Back  and  forward  like  a weav 
H 


16 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


er’s  shuttle,  as  somebody  said,  his  thoughts  went 
flying  through  his  brain.  And  precious  stuff 
was  woven  there.  How  his  blue  eyes  used  to 
flash  when  he  read  or  heard  of  any  iniquity  done 
in  the  earth ! How  strong  he  felt  his  hand  to 
be  to  flght  for  the  weak  and  poor ! how  eager 
his  tongue  was  to  help  them ! what  gentle  words 
his  voice  had  for  any  one  in  trouble ! how  full 
his  heart  was  of  generous,  warm  feeling  for  all 
in  anguish  or  distress ! how  often  and  how  earn- 
estly he  prayed  to  God  that  he  would  give  him 
something  to  do  in  behalf  of  the  poor? 

In  those  days  Tiny  used  to  send  forth,  from 
time  to  time,  upon  the  river — that  very  river 
which  ran  past  the  cottage  through  the  forest, 
and  on  towards  the  sea — a richer  treasure  than 
the  fragile  paper  boats  with  which  he  used  to 
sport ; and  what  do  you  think  that  could  be  ? — 
Even  his  songs ! Thoughts  which  came  to  him 
sometimes  in  the  dead  of  night,  when  he  was 
lying  wide  awake  upon  his  bed,  looking  through 
his  little  window  at  the  stars,  with  the  swallows 


thp:  beautiful  gate.  17 

so  near  him  in  their  nests  under  the  eaves,  that 
Tiny  called  them  his  bed-fellows,  who  slept  in 
feathers  as  well  as  himself! 

And  sometimes  they  came  to  him  when  he  sat 
in  the  evenings  reading  aloud  to  his  mother, 
pausing  now  and  then  to  look  at  her  through 
his  fingers,  and  to  wonder,  when  he  did  so,  if 
ever  any  other  boy  had  such  a mother,  so  good, 
and  kind,  and  patient,  and  so  exceeding  lovely ! 
I wonder  what  you  will  say  to  that  ? And  then 
again  they  came  to  him  at  times  when  he  silently 
walked  in  the  silent  forest,  lost  in  meditation, 
gathering  no  more  wintergreen  or  thorn-berries 
for  his  mother’s  necklaces,  to  be  sure,  but  think- 
ing of  another  sort  of  wreath,  of  evergreen, 
which  he  would  some  day  lay  upon  her  forehead 
for  a crown,  because  she  was  ms  mother  ! 

As  a helpless  infant,  happy  boy,  and  thought- 
ful youth,  he  had  lived  in  that  humble  cottage, 
singing  his  songs,  beholding  the  glory  of  the 
lieaven  and  the  earth,  and  seeing  in  a vision  all 

nis  future  days. 

2 


18 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


It  is  an  easy  thing  for  me  to  tell  how  dear  the 
old  people  were  to  the  heart  of  Tiny,  but  what 
a treasure  Tiny  was  to  them,  oh,  that  is  quite 
beyond  my  power.  I can  only  make  a guess  in 
the  dark  at  that.  They  called  him  their  life 
sometimes,  when  they  were  talking  of  him  to 
each  other,  and  by  that  they  meant,  I suppose, 
that  he  was  what  gave  the  chief  value  to  their 
life  — that  he  was  better  than  all  other  things 
to  them. 

Every  day  old  Josiah  gave  thanks  to  God  for 
Tiny,  and  while  he  felt  his  own  strength  failing, 
year  by  year,  while  he  knew  that  his  right  arm 
was  getting  weaker,  as  well  as  his  eyes  and  his 
love  of  life,  he  looked  to  the  lad,  and  the  blood 
warmed  in  his  old  veins,  and  in  his  arm,  and  in 
his  eyes  also  ; and  he  greAV  stronger  at  the  sight 
of  so  much  beauty,  and  strength,  and  promise. 
And  day  by  day  Tiny’s  mother  repeated  his  say- 
ings, and  treasured  them  in  her  heart,  as  words 
of  wisdom ; and  when  she  slept  she  dreamed  of 
him.  He  was  never  for  one  moment  absent 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


19 


from  her  thoughts.  If  ever  she  dropped  her  work 
and  took  to  building  castles  in  the  air,  it  was  for 
him  that  she  built  them.  He  was  to  be  the  lord 
and  master  of  them  all.  And  now  when  she 
went  working  busy  as  a bee  about  her  little 
house,  instead  of  singing  the  old  songs  with 
which  she  had  hushed  him  to  sleep,  so  many 
times,  she  sang  others,  new  and  strange  ones  — 
songs  which  Tiny  also  sung ; he  had  learned  them 
in  the  forest  he  said — ^in  that  wonderful  forest  in 
whose  shadow  the  little  cottage  stood. 


II. 

But,  while  things  went  on  with  them  in  this 
smooth  way,  there  was  a change  at  hand.  Away 
down  the  river,  in  the  world,  people  had  caught 
an  echo  of  the  young  voice  that  was  singing 
with  the  birds  in  the  forest,  and  with  sweet 
persuasive  words  they  called  to  him ; they  said, 
Oh,  beautiful  singer,  come  nearer ; we  need 


20  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE, 

thee;  come  and  dwell  with  us  — dwell  with  us 

— work  with  us.” 

Tiny  heard  that  call.  His  heart  w^as  in  his 
mouth  when  he  heard  it.  Wider  than  ever 
before  opened  his  handsome  eyes  — in  his  heart 
he  was  eager  to  go  ; — but  he  said  not  a word. 
Yet  often  he  bent  his  head  and  lost  himself  in 
thought,  and  his  father  and  mother  understood 
that  as  well  as  if  he  had  said  outright,  “I  must 
leave  you.”  ISTeither  of  them  had  the  strength  to 
say  to  the  other,  It  is  he  that  will  take  the  Harp 
down  from  our  wall  and  go  away  ” — but  both  be- 
lieved it.  His  mother,  when  she  saw  it,  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  wept,  but  neither  she 
nor  Tiny  said  a word.  He  did  not  tell  her  his 
hope ; she  did  not  tell  him  her  fear.  And  pres- 
ently she  dressed  her  pale  face  in  a smile  again 

— but  it  was  not  a natural  smile,  and  Tiny  knew 
it  was  put  on  to  comfort  him.  And  yet  he  tried 
not  to  know  it.  He  tried  to  believe  that  it  was 
the  old  smile  she  used  to  wear  before  these  strange 
new  things  had  come  to  pass.  He  tried  to  think 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


21 


she  was  as  happy  now  as  before  she  knew  that 
the  world  was  calling  to  her  to  give  her  son 
away ! 

But  though  he  did  his  best  in  trying  to  believe 
all  this,  it  was  a different  affair  when  Tiny  came 
to  old  Josiah.  For  instead  of  smiling  over  his 
suspicion,  the  father  only  looked  more  serious 
than  ever,  and  tears  and  grave  looks  went  about 
with  him  wherever  he  went;  they  were  the 
shadow  which  his  sad  heart  cast.  Once,  Tiny 
overheard  him  in  the  forest  saying  to  himself, 
The  world ! ’’  With  great  scorn  he  said  it,  as 
if,  from  the  depths  of  his  honest  old  heart,  he 
despised  it.  The  world ! it  is  as  hollow  as  a 
hollow  tree,”  and  with  that  he  struck  his  axe 
against  just  such  a tree,  a tree  that  had  no  heart 
in  it.  You  might  have  thought  he  owed  it  a 
grudge,  from  the  way  he  did  it. 

As  Josiah  spoke  Tiny  appeared  before^ him. 
Father,”  said  he,  do  you  remember  what  fine 
things  you  used  to  tell  me  of  the  cities  built  of 
forests  such  as  this  ? ” Tiny  thought  that  this 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


*•>9, 


was  a good  opening  to  the  subject : and  he  look- 
ed at  J osiah,  his  father,  as  if  he  intended  to  take 
him  at  once  into  his  confidence. 

The  cities  are  well  enough,’’  muttered  the 
old  man,  looking  rather  displeased,  for  he  knew 
that  Tiny  had  overheard  him  talking  alone  by 
himself — - “ I never  said  anything  against  them.” 

But  you  said  just  now  that  the  world  is  like 
a hollow  tree,”  continued  Tiny. 

^^The  world  means  the  people  in  it,”  said  Jo- 
siah,  and  that  was  all  he  said.  Tie  did  not  in- 
tend to  hear  anything  more  either,  for  taking  up 
his  axe  he  began  to  work  in  such  a way  as  pre- 
vented his  hearing  or  speaking  further  at  that 
time.  And  so  Tiny  walked  away,  as  he  knew 
that  his  father  desired  to  have  him. 

Not  a word  had  Tiny  spoken  of  all  the  new 
thoughts  that  went  rushing  through  his  mind, 
keeping  him  wakeful  in  the  night,  and  making 
him  so  unlike  himself  by  day. 

In  the  garden  he  worked  harder  than  ever  be- 
fore— but  when  in  the  autumn  he  planted  the 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


23 


seed  wliich  should  appear  in  the  spring  time,  he 
said  nothing  to  his  mother  about  it.  To  have 
seen  how  they  avoided  the  subject,  they  who 
had  always  talked  together  so  much  and  so 
freely  of  all  their  plans  from  spring  to  fall  and 
from  fall  to  spring,  to  have  seen  how  they  avoid- 
ed speaking  now  of  another  summer  time,  one 
woald  have  thought  that  their  winter  was  going 
to  last  forever. 

He  arose  with  the  sun  — and  it  was  not  often 
that  le  stopped  labor  while  the  day  lasted  ; but 
his  heart  was  no  longer  in  that  sort  of  work  — 
he  labored  like  one  who  is  setting  his  affairs  in 
order  before  making  a long  journey.  And  the 
father  and  mother  understood  it,  and  when  they 
were  alone  together,  they  looked  at  each  other 
as  much  as  to  say,  “We  know  all  about  it;  no- 
body can  enlighten  us  — we  shall  lose  our  Tiny.” 


24 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE* 


III. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  December  that  the  first 
snow  fen  that  winter.  On  that  day  Tiny  gat  in 
the  kitchen  with  his  mother,  in  a very  strange 
mood,  poor  Kitty  thought ; but  it  was  not  so  v0ry 
strange.  Tiny  was  only  silent  because  he  had  so 
much  to  say,  and  did  not  know  exactly  how  to 
begin  his  speech.  But  when  she  saw  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  kitchen  wall,  and  on  the  Harp 
that  hung  there,  then  she  began  to  tremble  and 
to  be  afraid  that  very  soon  she  should  understand 
it  all  too  clearly.  Still  she  said  nothings — and 
even  when  he  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the 
fire-place  and  with  one  arm  round  her  neck  said 
softly  in  her  ear  — Mother,’’  even  then  she  said 
nothing,  for  her  terror  increased,  and  tears  blind- 
ed her  eyes,  and  choked  her  voice.  She  did  not 
even  take  him  into  her  arms  and  fold  him  to  her 
breast,  and  try  to  tell  him  how  his  conduct  trou- 
bled her. 

And  perhaps  Tiny  took  her  silence  for  some- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


25 


thing  more  than  it  really  meant  — perhaps  he 
took  his  own  hope  for  the  assurance  that  it  was 
all  as  he  desired ; that  she  understood  him  and 
was  glad.  At  all  events  he  walked  straight 
across  the  kitchen  without  another  word,  and 
took  down  the  old  harp  from  the  smoke-browned 
wall,  and  seating  himself  in  the  place  by  the 
fireside  where  he  always  sat  in  the  evenings,  he 
began  to  tune  the  harp,  and  then  to  sing ! 

Nothing  said  the  mother  all  this  while  — only 
she  wept  in  silence ; and  not  a word  said  Tiny, 
but  his  hope  shone  from  his  eyes  as  he  touched 
the  harp  and  sang. 

Presently  the  poor  mother’s  hands  dropped 
from  the  face  they  had  hidden,  but  Tiny  dared 
not  look  at  her ; he  feared  to  see  what  might  be 
looking  at  him  from  that  face.  Like  one  gone 
out  of  her  mind  she  gazed  at  him  ; then  at  length 
she  stood  up  and  continued  gazing  at  her  boy,  as 
if  in  a splendid  dream.  She  had  done  with  such 
tears  as  she  had  just  now  shed  — the  old  smile, 
only  brighter  than  ever,  crossed  her  face  like 


26 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


sunshine.  And  then  her  heart  ov'erflowed.  It 
ran  over  her  face  like  a flood  of  tears,  but  they 
were  tears  in  vdiich  was  no  bitterness ; she  made 
no  attempt  to  hide  them.  So  freely  did  they 
fall  that  she  knew  nothing  of  them  — they  were 
as  bright  as  her  smile.  For  she  thought  upon 
the  Pilgrim’s  words,  and  the  FTew  Song  that 
should  be  sung  unto  the  Lord.  Oh,  if  indeed 
her  Tiny  was  to  sing  it ! And  she  went  up  to 
Tiny,  her  son,  and  tenderly  she  laid  her  hard, 
rough  hands  upon  his  golden  locks,  so  tenderly 
as  never  other  than  a mother’s  hand  could  rest 
upon  the  head  of  her  child,  and  she  blessed  him, 
calling  him  a Poet,  a true  singer,  and  said,  verily 
the  Harp  was  his,  and  that  for  him  the  Pilgrim 
left  it! 

Hever  had  these  words,  or  words  like  these, 
fallen  from  her  lips  before.  He  had  waited  a 
long  time  to  hear  her  say  them.  The  world,  yes, 
the  world  had  called  him  a singer  and  a poet,  but 
in  his  heart  he  had  said  when  his  father  and 
his  mother  called  him  so,  then  he  should  know 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


27 


that  it  was  true — then  he  would  believe  it — then 
he  would  go  forth  and  do  his  work. 

Therefore  when  Tiny  now  heard  her  dear  voice 
saying  these  things  to  him,  the  sound  was  more 
than  he  could  bear : he  threw  aside  his  harp, 
and  hiding  his  face  in  the  folds  of  her  woolen 
dress,  wept  aloud.  ^^Now  I have  yoiir  bless- 
ing,’’ said  he,  I may  go  ! But  when  I come 
back  again  I will  sing  a splendid  song,  not  like 
any  that  you  ever  heard  before,  and  then  you 
will  call  me  ten  times  a poet  and  a singer.  I 
shall  come  back,  mother  — this  only  is  my  home. 
And  I can  never  find  one  where  you  are  not.” 

And  there  was  such  a grand  light  in  the  two 
eyes  that  looked  upon  her,  such  a wondrous 
music  in  the  voice  of  Tiny  as  he  spoke,  he  seem- 
ed so  changed,  so  glorified,  that  the  poor  old 
mother  of  the  boy  stood  back  in  her  astonish- 
ment, and  looked  at  him,  and  could  not  say  a 
word.  ISTothing  could  she  say — but  well  he 
knew  that  if  she  could  speak  she  would  bid  him 
^ Go ! ” — he  read  it  in  her  eyes. 


28  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 

But  even  as  he  read  this  word  there — the 
word  of  all  others  he  had  most  longed  to  hear  — 
sad  and  tender  thoughts,  instead  of  glad  and 
proud  ones,  overwhelmed  him.  And  taking  up 
the  harp  again  he  sang  the  story  of  his  child- 
hood. And  running  through  it  all,  as  the  bright 
silver  chain  which  kept  all  these  pearls  of  mem- 
ory securely  in  their  places,  and  gave  to  them 
their  worth,  was  his  dear  mother’s  name.  How 
she  wept  to  hear  him ! All  her  kindness,  all  her 
gentleness  and  patience,  and  the  great  love  that 
never  was  found  wanting;  her  care  over  his 
helplessness,  her  long  watching  over  him,  all  her 
deeds,  every  one  of  them,  had  their  menory  in 
his  inmost  heart. 

The  afternoon  passed  away,  but  neither  Tiny 
nor  his  mother  noticed  that  the  night  was  coming 
on,  until  it  became  quite  dark  in  the  kitchen,  and 
then  Josiah  came  home. 

When  he  opened  the  door  his  son  seemed  not  to 
know  it.  Kitty  hurried  up  to  him  with  her  fin- 
ger on  her  lip,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  was 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


29 


not  to  speak  a word,  but  only  listen  to  their  poet. 
There  was  no  need  of  giving  him  this  caution 
however,  for  poor  J osiah  could  not  have  spoken 
a syllable  though  the  need  had  been  ever  so 
great.  And  when  he  looked  at  his  wife  and  saw 
how  she  was  smiling,  and  from  her  to  their  Tiny 
with  the  Harp  in  his  hand,  his  wonder  increased 
more  and  more.  lie  thought  that  Kitty  must 
have  lost  her  senses.  How  could  she  smile  at 
this? 

And  though  Tiny  played,  and  played  his  best, 
and  sang  his  wonderfulest,  nothing  said  the  old 
man — but  his  grave  face  became  still  graver, 
and  he  looked  as  if  in  sore  distress,  or  else  in 
sore  displeasure. 

So  at  length  Tiny  laid  aside  the  Harp,  and 
crossed  the  hearth  to  the  corner  in  the  shadow 
where  his  father  sat,  and  he  said  softly,  as  if 
afraid  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  or  else  as 
if  awed  by  what  the  gray  hairs  and  wrinkled 
visage  of  his  father  said  to  him, 

“ I have  not  forgotten  what  the  old  pilgrim 


80 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


told  you.  When  I tuned  the  harp  I remember 
ed  what  must  follow.  But,  father,  may  I not  sing 
unto  the  Lord  the  ISTew  Song?  May  I not?  ’’ 

The  old  man  returned  never  a word. 

If  I go  away  from  you  I shall  come  back 
again.  I only  want  to  go  a little  while,  that  I 
may  comfort  the  sad,  and  help  the  weary,  and 
assist  the  poor.  As  truly  as  I live,  father,  that  is 
all  my  desire.” 

Not  a word  said  Josiah.  If  he  could  have 
wept  a little  then,  it  would  have  done  him  good 
^ — but  not  a tear  fell  from  his  eyes ; and  from 
his  face  the  look  of  pain  and  sorrow  did  not  pass 
away.  It  was  a look  that  pierced  poor  Tiny  to 
the  heart — but  still  he  thought,  ^^I  should  be 
but  a poor  soldier  if  I were  willing  to  give  up 
the  fight  so  soon.  My  father  would  not  expect 
it  of  me — he  would  not  wish  it.”  So  Tiny  took 
up  the  harp  again  without  another  word,  and  all 
that  evening  while  the  storm  raved  against  the 
cottage  walls,  and  tossed  the  falling  snow  into 
great  drifts  and  hills,  he  played  the  most  beauti- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


31 


ful  music,  and  patiently  waited  for  liis  father  to 
say  some  encouraging,  or  at  least  some  cheerful 
word. 

But  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  not  a word  of 
any  kind  said  the  old  man ; and  yet,  while  he 
sat  in  the  dark  corner  with  his  hand  shading  his 
eyes,  as  if  the  tallow  candle  light  were  too  much 
for  him,  Josiah  felt  in  his  heart  pretty  certain 
of  the  end  that  was  to  he. 


lY. 

In  the  morning,  by  break  of  day,  Josiah  waked. 
His  wife  was  awake  long  before  him — indeed  she 
had  scarcely  closed  her  eyes  that  night ; and  she 
was  ready  to  speak  the  moment  his  eyes  opened. 
For  she  had  promised  Tiny  that  she  would  have 
a private  talk  with  his  father.  So  she  said  in  a 
low,  but  distinct  voice,  as  though  she  wxre  talk- 
ing to  herself : 

have  nursed  him,  and  watched  over  him 


32 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


year  after  year.  He  has  been  like  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  my  path,  and  precious  as  a flower.  There 
is  not  another  like  him.  I love  him  better  than 
I do  my  eyes.  If  he  were  away  I might  as  well 
be  blind.’’ 

That  puts  me  in  mind  of  what  I ’ve  been 
dreaming,”  said  the  old  man.  If  I was  only 
sure  that  he  would  come  at  last  to  the  Beautiful 
Gate,  I would  n’t  say  another  word.  But  who 
can  tell  ? And  if  it  actually  happened  that  he 
lost  his  sight  — poor  Tiny ! ” 

Josiah  did  not  flnish  what  he  had  begun  to 
say,  but  hid  his  face  in  the  bed  clothes,  and  then 
the  good  wife  knew  that  he  was  weeping,  and 
her  own  tears  began  to  fall,  and  she  could  not 
say  a word. 

After  breakfast,  when  Josiah  had  gone  off 
into  the  woods,  the  mother  told  Tiny  of  this  bit 
of  a conversation  — but  of  course  she  could  not 
explain  about  the  dream;  she  knew  no  more 
what  the  boy’s  father  had  dreamed  than  you  or 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


33 


I. do;  only  slie  knew  it  was  something  curious 
and  fanciful,  about  the  Beautiful  Gate. 

Tiny  listened  with  great  interest  to  his  mother’s 
words,  and  he  smiled  as  he  kissed  her  when  she 
had  done  speaking,  and  he  said,  ^^Wait  till  this 
evening,  mother  dear,  and  you  shall  see.” 

And  so  she  waited  till  the  evening. 

When  they  were  gathered  around  the  kitchen 
fire  at  night.  Tiny  took  down  his  harp  again. 
The  father,  when  he  saw  what  it  was  the  boy 
would  do,  made  a little  move  as  if  he  would 
prevent  him ; but  the  mother  playfully  caught 
the  old  man’s  hand  and  held  it  in  hers  while  she 
said  aloud,  Only  one  song,  Tiny.  Your  father 
was  broke  of  his  rest  last  night  — so  get  through 
with  it  as  quick  as  you  can.” 

At  which  remark  the  old  man  looked  well 
pleased,  for  now  he  fancied  that  his  wife  agreed 
with  him  in  this  business,  and  that  together  they 
should  soon  put  all  nonsensical  dreaming  about 
the  world  out  of  the  boy’s  head.  For  Josiah 
would  not  yet  allow  himself  to  believe  that  it 


34: 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


was  for  his  boy  Tiny  that  the  old  pilgrim  left  the 
harp. 

And  yet  never  was  a sweeter  voice  than  that 
of  the  yonng  singer  — old  Josiah  acknowledged 
that  to  himself — and  old  Josiah  knew  — he  was 
a judge  of  such  things,  for  all  his  life  he  had 
been  singing  songs  in  his  heart. 

Yes ! though  you  would  never  have  imagined 
such  a thing,  that  is,  if  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
judging  folks  from  their  outward  appearance  — 
he  had  such  a rough,  wrinkled  face,  brown  with 
freckles  and  tan  ; such  coarse,  shaggy  gray  hair 
— and  such  a short,  crooked,  awkward  figure  ; 
you  never  would  have  guessed  what  songs  he 
was  forever  singing  in  his  heart  with  his  inward 
voice  — they  were  songs  which  worldly  people 
would  never  hear — only  God  and  the  angels 
heard  them.  Only  God  and  the  holy  angels  ! — 
for  as  to  Kitty,  though  she  was  Josiah’s  best 
earthly  friend,  though  she  knew  he  was  such  an 
excellent  man,  though  she  believed  that  there 
was  not  a better  man  than  he  in  all  the  world. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


35 


though,  year  by  year  he  had  been  growing  love 
Her  and  lovelier  in  her  eyes  — yes ! though  his 
hair  of  course  got  rougher  and  grayer,  and  his 
figure  more  bent,  and  his  hands  harder,  and  his 
teeth  were  nearly  all  gone ! — growing  lovelier  be- 
cause of  his  excellence,  which  increased  with  age 
as  good  wine  does — still  even  she,  who  knew  him 
better  than  any  person  on  earth,  even  she  knew 
him  so  little  that  she  never  so  much  as  dreamed 
that  this  wonderful  voice  of  Tiny’s  was  but  the 
echo  of  what  had  been  going  on  in  Josiah’s  heart 
and  mind  ever  since  he  was  himself  a child ! 

It  was  because  he  understood  all  this  so  very 
well  that  Josiah  was  troubled  when  he  thought 
about  his  son. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  singer  in  the  chimney  cor- 
ner. Tiny  sat  alone  on  his  side  of  the  fire-place, 
in  the  little  chair  fashioned  out  of  knotted  twigs 
of  oak  which  his  father  had  made  for  him  long 
ago.  Opposite  him  were  the  old  folks  — the 
father  with  his  arms  folded  on  his  broad  chest 
— the  mother  knitting  beside  him,  now  and 


36 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


then  casting  a side-long  glance  at  the  old  man 
to  see  how  it  went  with  him. 

Wonderful  was  that  song  which  Tiny  sung!  * 

Even  the  winter  wind  seemed  hushing  its  voice 
to  hear  it,  and  through  the  little  windows  looked 
the  astonished  moon. 

And  J osiah  lifted  up  his  eyes  in  great  amaze- 
ment, as  he  heard  it  — as  if  he  had  altogether 
lost  himself.  It  was  nothing  like  his  dream  that 
Tiny  sang,  though  to  he  sure  it  was  all  about  a 
Beautiful  Gate. 

Altogether  about  the  Beautiful  Gate ! and  of 
the  young  poet,  who,  passing  through  it,  went 
his  way  into  the  great  Temple  of  the  World,  sing- 
ing his  great  songs,  borne  like  a conqueror  with 
a golden  canopy  carried  over  him,  and  a golden 
crown  upon  his  head ! Biding  upon  a white 
horse  splendidly  caparisoned,  and  crowds  of 
people  strewing  multitudes  of  flowers  before 
him ! And  of  the  lady  who  had  placed  the  vic- 
tor’s crown  upon  his  head  1 She  was  by  his  side, 
more  beautiful  than  any  dream,  rejoicing  in  his 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


3T 


triumph,  and  leading  him  on  towards  her  father’s 
palace,  the  Beautiful  Pearl  Gates  of  which  were 
thrown  wide  open,  and  the  king  himself  with  a 
bare  head  stood  there,  on  foot,  to  welcome  the 
Poet  in  to  the  great  feast. 

With  this  the  song  ended,  and  with  a grand 
sweep  of  the  silver  strings  Tiny  gently  arose,  and 
hung  the  harp  against  the  wall,  and  sat  down 
again  with  folded  hands,  and  blushing  cheek? 
half  frightened,  now  when  all  was  over,  to  think 
what  he  had  done.  The  tire  had  vanished  from 
his  eyes,  and  the  red  glow  of  his  cheek  went  fol- 
lowing after,  and  if  you  had  gone  into  Josiah’s 
kitchen  just  then,  you  never  would  have  guessed 
that  he  was  the  enchanter  who  had  been  raising 
such  a storm  of  splendid  music. 

At  first  the  old  man  could  not  speak  — tears 
choked  his  words.  Ahem,”  said  he  once  or 
twice,  and  he  cleared  his  voice  with  the  inten- 
tion of  speaking ; but  for  a long  time  no  words 
followed.  At  length  he  said,  shaking  his  head, 
— It  is  n’t  like  what  I dreamed  — it  is  n’t  like 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 

what  I dreamed  and  one  would  have  supposed 
that  the  old  man  felt  himself  guilty  of  a sin  by 
the  way  he  looked  at  Tiny,  it  was  with  so  very 
sad  a look. 

But  beautifuler,”  said  the  mother,  beauti- 
fuler,  is  n’t  it,  Josiah ! ” 

Yes,”  answered  Josiah  ; ‘‘  but  still  he  spoke 
as  if  he  had  some  secret  misgiving — as  if  he 
were  not  quite  sure  that  the  beauty  of  the  song 
had  a right  to  do  away  with  the  sadness  of  his 
dream. 

‘‘  But,”  said  Tiny,  timidly,  yet  as  if  determined 
that  he  would  have  the  matter  quite  settled  now 
and  forever  — am  I a singer,  father  ? am  I a 
poet  ? ” 

Slowly  came  the  answer  — but  it  actually 
came,  Yes,”  with  a broken  voice  and  troubled 
look,  and  then  the  old  man  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  as  if  he  had  pronounced  some  dreadful 
doom  upon  his  only  son. 

Then  said  Tiny  boldly,  rising  from  his  seat, 

I must  go  into  the  world.  It  says  it  needs  me 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


39 


— and  father,  shall  your  son  hide  himself  when 
any  one  in  need  calls  to  him  for  help  ? I never 
would  have  gone,  father,  if  you  and  mother  had 
not  said  that  I was  a singer  and  a poet.  For 
you  I know  would  never  deceive  me ; and  I made 
a vow  that  if  ever  a time  came  when  you  should 
say  it  to  me,  that  I would  go.  But  this  is  my 
HOME,  father  and  mother;  I shall  never  get  an- 
other. The  wide  world  could  not  give  me  one. 
It  is  not  rich  enough  to  build  me  a home  like 
this.’’ 

Do  n’t  speak  in  that  way,”  said  the  old  man, 
and  he  turned  away  that  Tiny  should  not  see  his 
face,  and  he  bent  his  head  upon  the  back  of  his 
chair. 

Presently  Tiny  went  softly  up  to  him  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  Josiah’s  arm,  and  his  voice  trem- 
bled while  he  said,  Dear  father,  are  you  angry 
with  me  ? ” 

No,  Tiny,”  said  Josiah — but  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  the  world  ? You ! . . . my 
poor  boy.” 


13 


40 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


Good ! ” said  Tiny  with  a loud,  courageous 
voice  — as  if  he  were  prepared,  single  handed, 
to  fight  all  the  evil  there  was  in  the  w^orld  — 
Good,  father,  or  I would  not  have  dared  to  take 
the  pilgrim’s  harp  down  from  the  wall.  I will 
sing,”  continued  he  still  more  hopefully,  and 
looking  up  smiling  into  the  old  man’s  face — 
will  sing  for  the  sick  and  the  weary,  and  cheer 
them ; I will  tell  the  people  that  God  smiles  on 
patient  labor,  and  has  a reward  in  store  for  the 
faithful  better  than  gold  and  rubies.  I will  get 
money  for  my  songs,  and  feed  the  hungry;  I 

will  comfort  the  afflicted ; I will ” 

^^But,”  said  Josiah  solemnly,  lifting  his  head 
from  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  looking  at  Tiny 
as  if  he  would  read  every  thought  there  was  in 
the  boy’s  heart.  What  did  all  that  mean  about 
the  Beautiful  Gate?  Ah,  my  son,  you  were 
thinking  more  of  your  own  pride  and  glory,  than 
of  the  miserable  and  the  poor ! ” 

‘‘It  was  only  to  prove  to  you  that  I had  a voice, 
and  that  I could  sing,  father,”  answered  Tiny. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


41 


Long  gazed  Josiah  upon  the  face  of  his  son  as 
he  heard  this.  Then  he  closed  his  eyes,  and 
bent  his  head,  and  Tiny  knew  that  he  was  pray- 
ing: that  was  a solemn  silence  — you  could 
have  heard  a pin  drop  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

Presently  the  old  man  arose,  and  without 
speaking,  went  softly  and  took  the  Harp  down 
from  the  wall.  ^‘Take  it,”  said  he,  handing  it 
to  Tiny,  “Take  it — it  is  your’s.  Do  what  you 
will.  The  Lord  direct  your  goings.” 

“ Without  your  blessing,  father  ? ” said  Tiny 
stepping  back  and  folding  his  arms  upon  his 
breast.  He  would  not  take  the  harp.  Then 
with  both  hands  pressed  on  Tiny’s  head  the  old 
man  said,  “ May  God  bless  you,  my  son.” 

The  old  man’s  face  was  very  calm  then,  and 
there  was  not  a tear  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke ; he 
had  begun  to  hope  again.  And  he  turned  away 
from  Tiny  to  comfort  his  poor  wife. 

“ Many,  many  years  we  lived  alone  before  our 
Tiny  came,”  said  he  — “ and  we  were  very  happy 
— and  we  will  be  very  happy  yet,  though  he  is 


42 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


going  away.  He  is  our  all  • — but  if  the  world 
needs  him  he  shall  go  and  serve  it.’’  And  noth- 
ing more  said  J osiah  — for  his  heart  was  full  — 
too  full  for  further  speech. 


V. 

Well,  — Tiny  the  singer  went  sailing  down  the 
river  one  bright  morning,  on  a boat  loaded  with 
lumber ; his  Harp  was  on  his  arm,  and  the  rest 
of  his  worldly  goods  upon  his  back. 

It  was  a sad  parting  — but  they  all  comforted 
themselves  thinking  of  the  time  when  he  would 
come  back  again.  It  was  a long  journey  to  be 
sure  — but  then,  at  the  end  of  it  was  the  world 
— which  had  need  of  him  ! 

So  Tiny  sat  upon  the  top  of  the  lumber,  the 
most  valuable  part  of  the  ship’s  load  by  far, 
though  the  seamen  and  the  owner  of  the  lumber 
thought  him  only  a silly  country  lad,  who  was 
going  down  to  the  city,  probably  on  a fool’s  er- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


4:3 


rand.  And  Tiny  looked  at  the  banks  of  the 
riyer,  right  and  left,  as  they  floated  down  it,  and 
thought  of  all  the  songs  he  would  sing. 

And  all  the  first  day  it  was  of  the  poor  he 
would  help  — of  the  desolate  hearts  he  would 
cheer  — of  the  weary  lives  he  would  encourage, 
that  he  thought ; the  world  that  had  need  of  him 
should  never  find  him  hard  of  hearing  when  it 
called  to  him  for  help.  And  much  he  wondered 
— the  poet  Tiny  sailing  down  the  river  towards 
the  world,  how  it  happened  that  The  World  with 
all  its  mighty  riches,  and  its  hosts  on  hosts  of 
helpers,  should  ever  stand  in  need  of  him  ! But 
though  he  wondered,  his  joy  was  none  the  less 
that  it  had  happened  so.  And  on  the  first  night 
he  dreamed  of  pale  faces  growing  rosy,  and 
sad  hearts  becoming  lighter  — and  weary  hands 
strengthened,  all  by  his  own  efforts.  The  world 
that  had  need  of  him  felt  itself  better  off  on  ac- 
count of  his  labors ! 

But  on  the  second  day  of  Tiny’s  journey  other 
thoughts  began  to  mingle  in  with  these.  About 


44 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


his  father  and  mother  he  thought,  not  in  such  a 
way  as  they  would  have  been  glad  to  know  — 
but  proudly  and  loftily ! What  could  he  do  for 
them  ? Bring  home  a name  that  the  world  never 
mentioned  except  with  praises  and  a blessing ! 
And  that  thought  made  his  cheek  glow  and  his 
eyes  flash,  and  at  night  he  dreamed  of  a trum- 
peter shouting  his  name  abroad,  and  going  up 
the  river  to  tell  old  Josiah  how  famous  his  boy 
had  become  in  the  earth ! 

And  the  tliird  day  he  dreamed,  with  his  eyes 
wide  open,  tlie  livelong  day,  of  the  Beautiful 
Gate,  and  the  palace  of  Fame  and  Wealth  to 
which  it  led ! and  he  saw  himself  entering  there- 
in, and  the  multitude  following  him.  He  sat 
upon  a throne,  and  wise  men  came  with  gifts, 
and  offered  them  to  him.  Alas,  poor  Tiny ! the 
world  had  already  too  many  helpers  thinking 
just  such  thoughts  — it  had  need  of  no  more 
coming  with  such  ofierings  as  these  — would  no 
one  tell  him  so?  Would  no  one  tell  him  that 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


45 


the  New  Song  to  be  sung  unto  our  Lord,  was 
very  different  from  this  ? 

And  at  the  end  of  the  third  day.  Tiny’s  jour- 
ney was  ended.  . . . And  he  was  landed 

on  the  world.  . . . Slowly  the  ship  came 

sailing  into  harbor,  and  took  its  place  among  a 
thousand  other  ships,  and  Tiny  went  ashore. 


VI. 

It  was  about  sunset  that  Tiny  found  himself  in 
the  street  of  the  great  city.  The  workmen  were 
going  home  from  their  labor  he  thought,  at  first, 
— but  could  it  be  a city  full  of  workmen,  he 
asked  himself  as  the  crowd  passed  by  him  and 
he  stood  gazing  on  the  poor?  For  he  saw  only 
the  poor  : now  and  then  something  dazzling  and 
splendid  went  past,  but  if  he  turned  again  to 
discover  what  it  was,  that  made  his  eyes  ache 
so  with  the  brightness,  the  strange  sight  was  lost 
in  the  crowd,  and  all  he  could  see  were  pale  faces. 


46 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


and  hungry  voices,  and  the  half-clad  forms  of 
men,  and  women,  and  children.  And  then  he 
said  to  himself  with  a groan,  ^^The  city  is  full  of 
beggars.” 

As  he  said  that,  another  thought  occurred  to 
Tiny,  and  he  unfastened  his  harp,  and  touched 
the  strings.  But  in  the  din  and  roar  of  the  city 
wagons,  and  in  the  confusion  of  voices,  for  every 
one  seemed  to  be  talking  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
what  chance  had  that  harp-player  of  being 
heard  ? Still,  though  the  crowd  brushed  past 
him  as  if  there  was  no  sound  whatever  in  the 
harp  strings,  and  no  power  at  all  in  the  hand 
that  struck  them.  Tiny  kept  on  playing,  and 
presently  he  began  to  sing. 

It  was  that  they  wanted  — the  living,  human, 
voice,  that  trembled  and  grew  strong  again,  that 
was  sorrowful  and  joyous,  that  prayed  and  wept, 
and  gave  thanks,  just  as  the  human  heart  does ! 
It  was  that  the  people  wanted  ; and  so  well  did 
they  know  their  want  that  the  moment  Tiny  be- 
gan  to  sing,  the  crowd  going  past  him  heard  his 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE.  4:7 

voice.  And  the  people  gathered  round  him,  and 
more  than  one  said  to  himself  with  joy,  “ Our 
brother  has  come  at  last ! ” 

They  gathered  around  him  — the  poor,  and 
lame,  and  sick,  and  blind ; ragged  children, 
weary  men,  desponding  women,  whose  want  and 
sorrow  spoke  from  every  look,  and  word,  and 
dress.  Closely  they  crowded  around  him ; 
and  angry  voices  were  hushed,  and  troubled 
hearts  for  the  moment  forgot  their  trouble,  and 
the  weary  forgot  that  another  day  of  toil  was 
before  them.  The  pale  woman  nearest  Tiny  who 
held  the  little  baby  in  her  arms,  felt  its  limbs 
growing  colder  and  colder,  and  once  she  looked 
under  her  shawl  and  quickly  laid  her  hand  upon 
her  darling’s  heart,  but  though  she  knew  then 
that  the  child  was  dead,  still  she  stood  there 
smiling,  and  looking  up  towards  heaven  where 
Tiny’s  eyes  so  often  looked,  because  at  that  very 
moment  he  was  singing  of  the  Father  in  Heaven, 
whose  house  of  many  mansions  is  large  enough 
for  all  the  world. 


4:8 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


It  was  strange  to  see  the  eftect  of  Tiny’s  song 
upon  those  people ! How  bright  their  faces 
grew ! kind  words  from  a human  heart  are  such 
an  excellent  medicine  — they  make  such  aston- 
ishing cures ! You  would  have  thought,  had 
you  been  passing  by  the  crowd  that  gathered 
around  Tiny,  you  would  have  thought  an  angel 
had  been  promising  some  good  thing  to  them. 
Whereas  it  was  only  this  young  Tiny,  this  country 
lad,  who  had  journeyed  from  the  shadow  of  the 
Great  Forest,  who  was  telling  them  of  a good 
time  surely  coming ! 

When  he  had  finished  his  song,  Tiny  would 
have  put  up  his  harp,  and  gone  his  way,  but  that 
he  could  not  do  — because  of  the  crowd. 

‘‘  Sing  again ! ” the  people  cried.  The  beggars 
and  rich  men  together — (it  was  a long  time 
since  they  had  spoken  with  one  voice.)  Did  ] 
tell  you  that  a number  of  rich  men  had  gather 
ed,  like  a sort  of  outer  wall,  around  the  crowd 
of  poor  people  which  stood  next  to  Tiny. 

‘‘  Sing  again  ” they  cried  — and  loud  and  clear 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


49 


above  the  other  voices  said  one,  There  is  but 
a solitary  singer  in  the  world  that  sings  in  such 
a strain  as  that.  And  he,  I thought,  was  far  away 
— I mean  the  poet  Tiny.  Can  this  be  he  ? ’’ 
Then  Tiny’s  heart  leaped  within  him,  hearing 
it,  and  he  said  to  himself:  ^‘If  my  father  and 
mother  were  but  here  to  see  it ! ” . And  he  sung 
again  — and  still  for  the  poor,  and  the  weary, 
and  the  sick,  and  the  faint-hearted,  until  the 
street  became  as  silent  as  a church  where  the 
minister  is  saying,  Glory  be  unto  the  Father.” 
And  indeed  it  was  just  then  a sacred  temple, 
where  a sacred  voice  was  preaching  in  a most 
sacred  cause. 

I hn  sure  you  know  by  this  time  what  the 
cause  ” was  ? And  while  he  sang,  the  rich 
men  of  the  outer  circle  were  busy  among  them- 
selves, even  while  they  listened,  and  presently 
the  person  who  had  before  spoken,  made  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  carrying  a great  purse  filled 
with  silver,  and  he  said,  “ You  are  Tiny  himself 

— do  with  this  what  you  think  best.  We  have 
4 


50 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE 


a long  tinae  been  looking  for  you  in  the  world. 
Come  home  with  me  — and  dwell  in  my  house, 
oh,  Poet,  I pray  you.” 

Tiny  took  the  heavy  purse,  and  looked  at  it, 
and  from  it  to  the  people. 

Then  said  he  — oh,  what  melody  was  in  his 
voice,  how  sweet  his  words  ! None  of  you  but 
are  my  friends  — you  are  more  — my  brothers 
and  sisters.  Come  and  tell  me  how  much  you 
need.”  As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  the  woman 
who  stood  nearest  him  with  the  dead  baby  in 
her  arms.  Her  eyes  met  his,  and  she  threw 
back  the  old,  ragged  shawl,  and  showed  him  her 
little  child.  Give  me,”  said  she,  only  enough 
to  bury  it.  I want  nothing  for  myself.  I had 
nothing  but  my  baby  to  care  for.” 

The  poet  bowed  his  head  over  the  little  one, 
and  fast  his  tears  fell  on  the  poor,  pale  face  — 
and  like  pearls  the  tears  shone  on  the  soft,  white 
cheek,  while  he  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  wo- 
man, Their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face 
of  Our  Father.”  And  he  gave  her  what  she 


THE  B E A U T I F U L G A T E . 


51 


needed,  and  gently  covered  the  baby’s  face  again 
with  the  tattered  shawl,  and  the  mother  went 
away. 

Then  a child  came  up  and  said  — now  this  was 
a poor  street  beggar,  remember,  a boy  whom 
people  called  as  hold  as  a thief — he  came  and 
looked  at  Tiny,  and  said  gently,  as  if  speaking 
to  an  elder  brother  whom  he  loved  and  trusted 
— “My  father  and  mother  are  dead  — I have  a 
little  brother  and  sister  at  home  — and  they  de- 
pend on  me — I have  been  trying  to  get  work  — 
but  no  one  believes  my  story.  I would  like  to 
take  a loaf  of  bread  home  to  them.” 

And  Tiny  looking  at  the  boy  seemed  to  read 
his  heart,  and  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
poor  fellow’s  shoulder,  “ Be  always  as  patient, 
and  gentle,  and  believing  as  you  are  now,  and 
you  will  have  bread  for  them  and  to  spare,  with- 
out fear.” 

Then  came  an  old,  old  man  bending  on  his 
staff,  and  he  spoke  out  sharply,  as  if  he  were 
half  starved,  and  all  he  said  was  “ Bread ! ” and 


52 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


with  that  he  held  out  his  hand  as  if  all  he  had 
to  do  was  to  ask,  in  order  to  get  what  he  wanted. 

For  a moment  Tiny  made  him  no  answer,  and 
some  persons  who  had  heard  the  demand,  and 
saw  that  Tiny  gave  him  nothing,  began  to  laugh. 
But  at  that  sound  Tiny  rebuked  them  with  his 
look,  and  put  his  hand  into  the  purse.  The  old 
man  saw  all  this,  and  he  said,  ‘‘  I am  tired  of 
begging  — I ’m  tired  of  saying,  ^for  mercy’s  sake 
give  to  me  ’ — for  people  do  n’t  have  mercy  — 
they  know  nothing  about  being  merciful,  and 
they  do  n’t  care  for  mercy’s  sake.  I do  n’t  beg 
of  you,  Mr.  Poet.  I only  ask  you  as  if  you  were 
my  son,  and  that ’s  all.  Give  me  bread.  I ’m 
starving.” 

And  Tiny  said,  For  my  dear  father’s  sake  take 
this  — God  forbid  that  I should  ever  be  deaf 
when  an  old  man  with  a wrinkled  face  and  white 
hair  speaks  to  me.” 

Afar  off  stood  a young  girl  looking  at  the  poet. 
Tiny  saw  her,  and  that  she  needed  something  of 
him,  though  she  did  not  come  and  ask,  and  so 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE.  53 

he  beckoned  to  her.  She  came  at  that,  and  as 
she  drew  nearer  he  fancied  that  she  had  been 
weeping,  and  that  her  grief  had.  kept  her  back. 
She  had  wept  so  violently  that  when  Tiny  spoke 
to  her  and  said,  What  is  it  ? ” she  could  not 
answer  him.  But  at  length  while  he  waited  so 
patiently,  she  made  a great  effort,  and  controlled 
herself  and  said  — ^^My  mother.” 

That  was  all  she  said  — and  Tiny  asked  no 
more.  He  knew  that  some  great  grief  had  fallen 
on  her — that  was  all  he  needed  to  know;  he 
laid  his  hand  in  hers,  and  turned  away  before 
she  could  thank  him,  but  he  left  with  her  a 
word  that  he  had  spoken  which  had  power  to 
comfort  her  long  after  the  money  he  gave  her 
was  all  gone  — long  after  the  day  when  her  poor 
mother  had  no  more  need  for  bread.  “ When 
my  father  and  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord 
will  lift  me  up.”  That  was  what  he  whispered  to 
her  as  he  left  her. 

And  thus  he  went  through  that  crowd  of  mis- 
erable people,  comforting  them  all.  But  it  was 


54  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 

remarkable  how  much  more  value  the  poor  folks 
seemed  to  put  upon  his  word  than  they  did  upon 
the  money  he  gave  them,  much  as  they  stood  in 
need  of  that!  I wonder  if  you  ever  thought 
about  the  wonderful  power  there  is  in  words? 

At  length,  when  the  purse  was  empty,  he 
stood  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  circle  of  rich 
men  who  had  given  him  the  silver  to  distribute 
as  he  would.  Then  the  man  who  handed  him 
the  purse  went  up  and  said  to  Tiny,  Poet,  come 
home  with  me.  You  are  come  at  last  I the  city 
ought  to  be  illuminated  — we  have  stood  so  long 
in  need  of  you,  expecting  you.” 

So  Tiny,  believing  what  the  rich  man  said, 
went  home  with  the  stranger  — and  for  a long 
time  he  abode  in  that  house. 


YII. 

And  rich  men  feasted  Tiny,  and  taught  him  to 
drink  wine : and  great  men  praised  him,  and 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


55 


taiiglit  him  so  that  he  believed  their  praise  was 
precious  above  all  things,  and  that  he  could  not 
live  without  it ! Was  not  that  absurd?  Nay, 
children,  was  not  that  most  terrible,  that  our 
dear  Tiny  should  ever  have  been  tempted  to  be- 
lieve such  wicked  trash  and  falsehood  ? He,  too, 
who  was  to  sing  that  sweet  and  holy  New  Song 
to  the  Lord  ! 

They  surrounded  him  day  and  night,  these 
rich,  gay  men,  and  these  great  men,  and  they  fed 
upon  the  delicious  thoughts  he  gave  them,  and 
they  kept  him  in  such  a whirl  of  pleasure  that 
he  had  no  time  for  working  for  the  poor,  and 
hardly  any  time  for  thinking  of  them.  Except- 
ing at  the  dead  of  night,  when  he  sometimes 
fancied  or  dreamed  that  the  old  pilgrim  owner 
of  the  harp  had  come,  or  would  come  quickly, 
and  take  it  away  from  him.  At  these  times 
poor  Tiny  would  make  excellent  resolutions,  but 
the  next  day  was  sure  to  see  them  broken.  He 
seemed  no  stronger  when  he  attempted  to  keep 
them  than  a poor  little  bird  who  is  determined 

14 


56 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


that  he  will  be  free,  and  so  goes  driving  against 
the  wires  of  his  cage ! 

When  Tiny  spoke  with  his  friend,  as  he  some- 
times did,  about  the  plan  with  which  he  had 
come  into  the  world,  his  friend  always  made  him 
very  polite  answers,  and  good  promises  — oh  yes, 
certainly,  he  would  do  all  that  Tie  could  to  help 
him  on  in  such  an  excellent  cause  ! But  the  fact 
was,  he  did  everything  to  prevent  him.  I won- 
der if  any  body  else  has  got  any  such  friend  in 
his  heart,  or  in  his  house,  as  our  Tiny  found  in 
his  very  first  walk  through  that  city  street  ? If 
I knew  of  any  one  that  had,  I should  say,  look 
out  for  him  ! Beware  of  him. 

And  so  Tiny  lived,  and  presently  it  happened 
just  as  you  would  expect ; his  conscience  trou- 
bled him  no  longer ; he  only  san^  such  songs  on 
feast  days,  and  holidays,  and  even  in  the  church, 
as  his  companions  liked  to  have  him ; and  he 
became  very  well  pleased  with  his  employment ! 
That  was  the  very  worst  of  it. 

I shall  tell  you  in  a very  few  words  what  hap- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


57 


pened  next.  Tiny  suddenly  fell  ill  of  a very  cu- 
rious disease,  whicli  caused  all  his  rich  friends 
to  forsake  him,  and  he  almost  died  of  it. 

In  those  days  his  only  helper  was  a poor  young 
beggar  girl  — one  of  those  persons  whom  he  had 
relieved  by  his  songs,  and  by  the  money  he  dis- 
tributed from  the  rich  man’s  purse  that  happy 
day.  The  little  girl  who  had  wept  so  bitterly, 
and  whose  only  word  was,  when  he  questioned 
her, — ‘‘  my  mother.” 

He  recovered  from  his  disease  in  time,  but  all 
his  old  acquaintances  had  forsaken  him  ; and  he 
must  have  felt  their  loss  exceedingly,  for  now  he 
had  an  attack  of  a desperate  complaint,  which  I 
pray  you  may  never  have ! — called  Despair  — ■ 
and  Tiny  crept  away  from  the  sight  of  all  men, 
into  a garret,  and  thought  thaf  he  would  die 
there.  \ 

A garret  at  Home  is  a very  different  place 
from  a garret  in  the  World, — and  so’ our  poet 
thought,  when  he  compared  this  miserable,  dis- 
mal place  with  the  little  attic  far,  far  away 


58 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


in  his  own  father’s  cottage,  where  he  was 
next  door  neighbor  to  the  swallows  who  slept  in 
their  little  mud  cabins  under  the  cottage  eaves ! 

Never  in  his  life  was  Tiny  so  lonely.  He  had 
come  to  help  tlie  World,  said  he,  talking  to  him- 
self, and  the  World  cared  not  half  so  much  about 
it  as  it  would  about  the  doings  of  a wonderful 
learned  pig,”  or  the  extraordinary  spectacle  of 
a man  cutting  profiles  with  his  toes  in  black 
paper ! 

^^Have  you  been  all  the  while  helping  the 
world,  and  is  this  all  the  pay  you  get  ? ” said 
the  girl,  his  poor  friend,  who  remembered  what 
he  had  done  for  her,  when  she  was  in  her  worst 
need. 

^Wes,”  said  Tiny;  but  there  was  no  truth  in 
what  he  said.  He  did  not  intend  to  speak  false- 
ly, however, — which  proves  the  sad  pass  he  had 
arrived  at ; he  did  not  even  know  when  he  was 
deceiving  himself!  And  when  Tiny  said  that 
‘‘  yes,”  what  do  you  suppose  he  thought  of?  Not 
of  all  the  precious  time  that  he  had  wasted  — 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


59 


not  of  the  Pilgrim’s  Harp — not  of  the  prom- 
ises he  had  made  his  father  — nor  of  the  great 
hope  of  the  poor  which  he  had  so  cruelly 
disappointed  — but  only  of  the  evil  fortune 
which  had  fallen  on  himself!  This  beggar  girl  to 
wait  on  him,  instead  of  the  most  beautiful  lady 
in  the  world  for  a crown  bearer ! This  garret 
for  a home,  instead  of  a place  at  the  king’s  ta- 
ble ! And  more  fiercely  than  ever  raged  that 
sickness  called  Despair. 

But  at  length  his  strength  began  to  return  to 
him  a little,  and  then  for  the  first  time  poor  Tiny 
discovered  that  he  was  Blind.  And  all  the  days 
and  weeks  that  came  and  went  were  like  one 
long,  dark  night.  In  those  dreadful  days  our 
Singer  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  think,  and  the 
little  beggar  girl  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  beg  — 
for  Tiny’s  charity  and  goodness  of  heart  seemed 
to  have  all  forsaken  him,  and  one  day  in  his  an- 
ger he  drove  her  out  of  his  garret,  and  bade  her 
return  no  more,  for  that  the  very  thought  of  her 
was  hateful  to  him.  In  doing  this.  Tiny  brought 


60 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


a terrible  calamity  upon  himself ; he  fell  against 
his  Harp  and  broke  it. 

After  that,  while  he  sat  pondering  on  the  sad 
plight  he  was  in,  hungry,  and  cold,  and  blind, 
he  suddenly  started  up.  A new  thought  had 
come  to  him.  I will  go  home  to  my  father’s 
house,”  he  said.  There  is  no  other  way  for 
me.  Oh,  my  mother ! ” — and  bitterly  he  wept 
as  he  pronounced  that  name,  and  thought  how 
little  like  her  tender  and  serene  love  was  the 
love  of  the  best  of  all  the  friends  he  had  found 
in  that  great  City  of  the  World. 

As  he  started  up  so  quickly,  in  a sort  of  fren- 
zy, his  foot  struck  against  the  broken  harp,  and 
instantly  the  instrument  gave  forth  a wailing 
sound,  that  pierced  the  poet’s  heart.  He  lifted 
up  the  harp  : alas  ! it  was  so  broken  he  could  do 
nothing  with  it ; from  his  hands  it  fell  back  upon 
the  floor  where  it  had  lain  neglected,  forgotten, 
so  long.  But  Tiny’s  heart  was  now  fairly  awa- 
kened, and  stooping  to  the  floor,  he  raised  the 
precious  treasure  again.  I will  carry  back  the 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


61 


broken  fragments,”  said  he ; they  shall  go  back 
to  my  father  with  me.  The  harp  is  his  — I can 
do  nothing  more  with  it  forever.  I have  ruined 
it — I have  done  nothing  for  the  world,  as  I 
promised  him.  A fine  thing  it  is  for  me  to  go 
back  to  him  in  this  dreadful  plight.  But  if  he 
says  to  me,  ‘ Thou  art  no  son’  of  mine,’  I will 
say,  ‘ Father,  I am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called 
thy  son ; make  me  thy  hired  servant  — only  pay 
me  in  love.’  ” 


VIII. 

And  so  saying.  Tiny  began  to  descend  from 
his  attic.  Carefully  he  went  down  the  stairs, 
ready  to  ask  help  of  the  first  person  whose  voice 
he  should  hear.  But  he  had  groped  his  way  as 
far  as  the  street  door,  before  he  met  a sonl.  As 
he  stepped  upon  the  threshold,  and  was  about  to 
move  on  into  the  street,  a voice — a child’s  voice 
— said  to  him, 

« I ’m  very  hungry,  sir.” 


62 


T HE  B K A TJ  T I F U L G ATE. 


The  patient  tone  of  the  speaker  arrested  Tiny’s 
steps,  and  he  pondered  it  a moment.  It  was  the 
hearts  that  belonged  to  voices  like  this,  which 
he  had  vowed  to  help ! His  own  heart  sunk 
within  him  at  that  thought.  Wretched  soul 
that  I am,”  said  he  to  himself,  thinking  of  the 
opportunities  which  he  had  lost.  But  to  the 
child  he  said, 

“Vm  blinder  than  a bat,  and  hungry,  too. 
So  I’m  worse  off  than  you  are.  Do  you  live 
about  here?” 

‘‘  Just  around  the  corner,”  said  the  little  girl. 

Is  there  a physician  near  here  ? ” he  asked 
next ; for  a new  thought — a new  hope,  rather — 
had  come  into  his  heart. 

Yes,  sir — just  very  near.  I know  where  it 
is,”  said  the  child.  ‘‘  I got  him  once  for  my 
mother.” 

If  you  will  lead  me  to  him,”  said  Tiny,  his 
voice  broken  as  his  heart  was,  I will  do  a good 
turn  for  you.  You  wont  be  the  loser  by  it.  Who 
takes  care  of  you  ? ” 


r H E BEAUTIFUL  a A T h)  „ 


63 


“ Of  me,  sir  ? ” asked  the  girl,  as  if  surprised 
that  he  should  think  that  any  one  took  care  of 
her.  Nobody.  I’m  all  alone.” 

‘^Alone ! alone  i ” repeated  Tiny : your  hand 
is  very  little  — you  are  a mite  of  a girl  to  be 
alone.” 

They ’re  all  dead  but  me,  every  one  of  ’em. 
Yes,  sir,  they  are.” 

‘^No  mother?”  said  Tiny,  with  a choking 
voice  — thinking  of  the  kind  heart  and  tender, 
loving  eyes  away  off  in  the  lonely  little  cottage 
on  the  border  of  the  forest — ‘^no  mother,  little 
girl  ? Was  that  what  you  said  ? ” 

“ Dead,”  replied  the  child. 

^^Did  you  lovelier?”  asked  Tiny,  the  poet, 
while  his  heart  wept  burning  tears. 

The  girl  said  not  a word,  but  Tiny  heard  her 
sob,  and  held  her  hand  close  in  his  own,  as 
though  he  would  protect  her,  even  if  he  were 
blind,  while  he  said  aloud  — 

Lead  me  to  the  physician,  little  friend.” 

Quietly  and  swiftly  she  led  him,  and  as  they 
J 


64 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


went.  Tiny  never  once  thought  what  if  any  of 
the  great  folks  who  once  courted  and  praised 
him  should  see  him  led  on  foot  through  the 
streets  by  a little  beggar  girl,  himself  lookiug 
hardly  more  respectable  than  the  poorest  of  all 
beggars ! 

Shall  I ring  the  door  bell?”  asked  she,  at 
length  coming  to  a sudden  halt. 

“ King  it,”  said  he. 

But  before  she  could  do  that  the  house  door 
opened,  and  the  physician  himself  appeared, 
prepared  for  a drive ; his  carriage  was  already 
in  waiting  at  the  door. 

Here  he  is,”  exclaimed  the  girl : and  at  the 
same  moment  a gruff  voice  demanded, 

‘^What  do  you  want,  you  two,  eh?  Speak 
quick,  for  I ’m  off.” 

In  one  word  Tiny  told  what  it  was  he  wanted. 

Blind,  eh  ? ” said  the  doctor,  stooping  and 
looking  into  the  pale  face  of  the  unhappy  sing- 
er ; “ iorn  blind  ! I can  do  nothing  for  you,  sir. 
John!  drive  the  horses  away  from  that  curb- 
stone.” 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


65 


He  stepped  forward,  as  he  spoke,  as  if  about 
to  leave  the  children,  but  he  stood  still  again, 
the  next  minute,  arrested  by  the  sound  of  Tiny’s 
indignant  voice. 

^^Born  blind!”  the  singer  cried — ^^no  more 
than  you  were,  sir.  If  you  knew  how  to  use 
your  eyes  to  any  good  purpose,  you  never  would 
say  such  a thing.  Since  I was  ill  I ’ve  been 
blind,  but  never  a moment  before.” 

Come  into  the  house  a minute,”  said  the 
doctor,  who  had  been  carefully  studying  Tiny’s 
face  during  the  last  few  seconds  — come  in,  and 
I ’ll  soon  settle  that  point  for  you.” 

For  yourself,  you  mean,”  said  Tiny  in  an  un- 
der tone,  as  he  and  the  beggar  girl  went  in. 

What’s  that  you  carry  ? ” said  the  physician 
— ‘^lay  down  your  pack  for  a moment.” 

But  Tiny  would  not  do  that.  He  had  taken 

up  his  Harp  in  much  the  same  spirit  as  if  it  had 

been  a cross,  and  he  was  determined  never  to 

lay  it  down  again,  until  he  came  to  his  father’s 

house.  So  he  merely  said,  Don’t  call  it  a 

5 


66 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


pack  — it  was  a Harp,  once,  but  now  it  only 
some  bits  of  wood  and  cord.’’ 

“ Broken ! ” said  the  doctor : and  you  would 
have  been  in  doubt,  if  you  had  heard  him,  as  to 
whether  he  meant  Tiny’s  Harp  or  Heart.  “ Bro- 
ken ! ah,  . . . . ” and  he  seemed  to  get  a 

little  new  light  on  the  subject  when  he  looked 
again  into  Tiny’s  face.  “Ah,”  he  said  again, 
and  still  more  thoughtfully  ; “ now  ! about  those 
eyes.  You  got  into  a great  rage  just  now,  when 
I told  you  that  you  were  born  blind.  On  a 
closer  examination  of  them  I am  still  tempted 
to  think  that  if  you  were  not  born  blind,  you 
never  had  the  full  use  of  your  eyes.  How  are 
you  going  to  prove  to  me  that  I ’m  mistaken  ? 
If  you  can  prove  that  it  came  after  your  sick- 
ness,”— he  hesitated  a little — “I’m  not  so  sure 
but  that  something  might  be  done  for  you.” 

At  that  Tiny’s  anger  was  not  much  lessened ; 
and  he  was  in  doubt  as  to  what  he  should  do, 
until  the  child  said  to  him,  “ Sing  to  him  about 
your  mother.”  The  words  had  the  efiect  of  a 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


67 


broad  ray  of  light  streaming  into  a dark  and 
dismal  place,  and  without  another  word  Tiny 
began  to  sing.  His  voice  was  faint  and  broken ; 
it  never  once  rose  into  a high  strain  of  pride,  as 
if  he  had  his  merits  as  a singer  to  support ; he 
sung  with  tears,  and  such  pathos  as  singer  never 
did  before,  of  his  Mother  and  her  Love.  By  the 
words  of  his  song  he  brought  her  there  into  that 
very  room,  with  her  good  and  pleasant  looks,  her 
loving  eyes,  and  tender  smile,  so  that  they  who 
heard  could  also  behold  her.  He  sung  of  all  that 
she  had  been  to  him  in  his  childhood,  of  the 
brightness  she  made  in  their  home,  of  all  that 
she  had  done  for  him,  and  concluded  with  the 
prayerful  longing  that  his  eyes  might  once  more 
receive  their  sight,  that  so  he  might  behold  her. 

“ The  doctor  is  weeping,”  whispered  the  little 
girl  in  Tiny’s  ear. 

It  was  a long  time  before  the  doctor  spoke  • — 
but  at  length  he  arose,  and  laid  some  silver  bits 
in  Tiny’s  hand  — and  he  said,  cannot  help 
you.  But  what  you  have  to  do  is  to  go  to  the 


68 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


Beautiful  Gate  — and  there  you  will  find  a 
physician  famous  for  the  cure  of  such  cases  as 
yours.  True  enough  you  were  n’t  horn  blind  — 
far  from  it.  I ask  your  pardon  for  the  mistake. 
I wish  there  were  more  blind  in  the  way  you 
were.  Go  your  way  to  the  Beautiful  Gate.” 

As  the  doctor  spoke  he  arose  and  walked  quick- 
ly towards  the  door,  and  the  children  followed 
him  out.  All  at  once  Tiny  recollected  that  they 
had  yet  one  very  important  thing  to  learn,  and 
he  cried  out : 

But,  sir,  which  way  shall  we  go  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  Beautiful  Gate.” 


IX. 

Too  late ! while  he  spoke  the  doctor  stepped 
into  his  carriage,  the  coachman  closed  the  door 
with  a loud  bang  and  drove  away  — and  Tiny 
and  the  little  girl  were  left  quite  in  the  dark  as 
to  what  they  should  do  next.  For  a long  time 
they  stood  still  in  perfect  silence  — at  last  Tiny 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


69 


said,  Lead  the  way,  little  girl  — for  I am  blind 
and  cannot  see.  Come  ! we  will  go  on  — if  you 
have  an  idea  that  we  shall  ever  come  to  the 
Beautiful  Gate.’’ 

In  all  my  life  I never  heard  of  it  before,” 
said  she  sadly. 

But  I have,”  cried  Tiny  trying  to  keep  his 
courage  up  by  speaking  brave  words.  ‘‘  Come 
on  with  me  ! ” yet  in  spite  of  his  words  he  held 
fast  to  the  girl’s  hand,  and  she  led  him  down  the 
street. 

Presently,  towards  nightfall,  they  came  up  to 
a crowd  of  people,  a mob  of  men  and  boys  who 
were  quarreling. 

Well  did  Tiny  understand  the  angry  sound  — 
and  as  for  the  girl  walking  with  him,  she  trem- 
bled with  fear  and  said,  ‘‘  Shall  we  turn  down 
this  street  ? they  are  having  a terrible  fight.  I am 
afraid  you  will  be  hurt.” 

ISTot  I,”  said  Tiny, — is  the  sun  near  setting  i ” 

It  has  set,”  said  the  girl. 


70 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


‘‘  And  does  the  red  light  shine  on  the  men’s 
faces  ? ” asked  the  poet. 

Yes,”  answered  the  girl  wondering. 

‘‘  On  the  night  when  I first  came  into  this  city’s 
streets  it  was  so.  My  harp  was  perfect  then ; 
but,  it  was  the  Voice,  and  not  the  other  music, 
that  the  people  cared  for  when  I sang.  Wait 
now.” 

The  little  girl  obediently  stood  still,  and  all  at 
once  Tiny  began  to  sing.  None  of  his  gay  songs 
sung  at  feasts,  and  revels,  or  on  holidays — but 
a song  of  peace,  as  grand  and  solemn  as  a psalm  ; 
and  the  quarreling  men  and  boys  stood  still  and 
listened,  and  before  the  song  was  ended,  the  ring- 
leaders of  the  fight  had  crept  away  in  shame. 
Other  voices  then  began  to  shout  in  praise  of 
the  young  stranger,  who  with  a few  simple  words 
had  stilled  their  angry  passions.  ‘^The  brave 
fellow  is  blind,”  said  they,  ‘^we  will  do  some- 
thing good  for  him  ! ” and  one,  and  another,  and 
another,  cried  out,  Come  with  us,  and  we  will 
do  you  good.” 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


71 


But  instead  of  answering  a word.  Tiny  went 
his  way  as  if  he  were  deaf  as  a post,  as  well 
as  blind  as  a bat,  and  by  his  side,  holding  his 
hand  close,  went  the  little  beggar  girl. 

Until  they  came  in  the  increasing  darkness  to 
a narrow,  crooked  lane  — and  met  a woman  who 
was  running,  crying,  with  a young  child  in  her 
arms. 

What  is  this  ? asked  Tiny. 

A woman,  pale  as  death,  blood  on  her  fore- 
head, with  a child  in  her  arms,’’  said  the  girl. 

Wait !”  shouted  Tiny,  stopping  just  before 
the  woman;  his  cry  so  astonished  her  that  she 
stood,  in  an  instant,  as  still  as  a statue.  What 
is  it  that  you  want  ? ” 

Food!  medicine  I clothes ! a home ! ” answer- 
ed she  with  a loud  cry. 

‘^Give  me  the  child  — take  this  — get  what 
you  need  and  I will  wait  here  with  the  little  one,” 
said  Tiny. 

Without  a word  the  woman  gave  her  child  — 
it  was  a poor  little  cripple  — into  his  arms ; and 


72 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


then  she  went  on  to  obey  him  ; and  softly  on  the 
evening  air,  in  that  damp,  dismal  lane,  arose  the 
songs  which  Tiny  sang  to  soothe  and  comfort  the 
poor  little  creature.  And  in  his  arms,  it  slept, 
hushed  by  the  melody,  a slumber  such  as  had 
not  in  a long  time  visited  its  eyes. 

Wonderful  singer ! blessed  songs ! sung  for  a 
wretched  sickly  stranger  who  could  not  even 
thank  him ! But  you  think  they  died  away  upon 
the  air,  those  songs  ? that  they  did  no  other  good 
than  merely  hush  a hungry  child  to  sleep  ? 

A student  in  an  attic  heard  the  song,  and 
smiled,  and  murmured  to  himself,  That  is  like 
having  a long  walk  in  the  woods,  and  hearing 
all  the  birds  sing.” 

A sick  girl  who  had  writhed  upon  her  bed  in 
pain  all  the  day  heard  the  gentle -singing  voice, 
and  it  was  like  a charm  upon  her  — she  lay 
resting  in  a sweet  calm,  and  said,  ^^Hark?  it  is 
an  angel ! ” A blind  old  man  started  up  from  a 
troubled  slumber,  and  smiled  a happy  smile  that 
said  as  plain  as  any  voice,  It  gives  me  back 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


73 


my  youth,  my  children,  and  my  country  home  ; ’’ 
and  he  smiled  again  and  again,  and  listened  at 
his  window,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe  lest  he 
should  lose  a single  word.  A baby  clad  in  rags, 
and  sheltered  from  the  cold  with  them,  a baby 
in  its  cradle  — what  do  you  think  that  cradle 
was?  as  truly  as  you  live  nothing  but  a box 
such  as  a merchant  packs  his  goods  in  ! that  baby, 
sleeping,  heard  it,  and  a light  like  sunshine 
spread  over  its  pretty  face.  A thief  skulking 
along  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  high  building 
heard  that  voice  and  was  struck  to  the  heart,  and 
crept  back  to  his  den,  and  did  no  wicked  thing 
that  night.  A prisoner  who  was  condemned  to 
die  heard  it  in  his  cell  near  by,  and  he  forgot  his 
chains,  and  dreamed  that  he  was  once  more  in- 
nocent and  free ; a boy  playing  with  his  mates, 
and  loved  and  trusted  by  them. 

At  length  the  mother  of  the  crippled  infant 
came  back,  and  brought  food  for  her  child,  and 
a warm  blanket  for  it,  and  she  and  Tiny  and  the 
beggar  girl.  Tiny’s  companion,  ate  their  supper 


74 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


there  upon  the  sidewalk  of  that  dark,  narrow 
lane,  and  then  they  went  their  separate  ways  — 
Tiny  and  his  friend  taking  the  poor  woman’s 
blessing  with  them,  going  in  one  direction,  and 
the  mother  and  her  baby  in  another,  but  they 
all  slept  in  the  street  that  night. 

The  next  morning  by  daybreak  Tiny  was  again 
on  his  way,  down  that  same  long,  narrow,  dingy 
street,  the  little  girl  still  walking  by  his  side. 
Swiftly  they  walked,  and  in  silence,  like  persons 
who  are  sure  of  their  destination,  and  know  that 
they  are  in  the  right  way,  though  they  had  not 
said  a word  to  each  other  on  that  subject  since 
they  set  out  in  the  path. 

What  is  that  ? ” at  length  asked  Tiny,  stopping 
short  in  the  street. 

A tolling  bell,”  said  the  girh 
Do  you  see  a funeral  ? ” 

Yes  — do  n’t  you  ? ” 

Tiny  made  no  answer  at  first  — at  length  he 
said — Let  us  go  into  the  church-yard,”  and  he 
waited  for  the  beggar  girl  to  lead  the  way  — 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


75 


which  she  did,  and  together  they  went  in  at  the 
open  chnrch-yard  gate. 

As  they  did  so  a clergyman  was  thanking  the 
friends  who  had  kindly  come  to  help  bury  the 
mother  of  the  orphan  children.  Tiny  heard  that 
word,  and  he  said  to  the  girl,  whose  name,  I ought 
long  ago  to  have  told  you,  was  Grace,  he  said, 
“ Are  there  many  friends  with  the  children  ? ” 

‘‘  No,’’  she  answered  sadly. 

Are  the  people  poor  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,  very  poor,”  said  she. 

Then  Tiny  stepped  forward  when  the  clergy- 
man had  done  speaking,  and  without  the  least 
permission  raised  a Hymn  for  the  Dead,  and  a 
prayer  to  the  Father  of  the  fatherless. 

When  he  had  made  an  end,  he  stepped 
back  again,  and  took  the  hand  of  Grace,  and 
walked  away  with  her  in  the  deep  silence,  for 
everybody  in  the  church-yard  was  weeping. 
But  as  they  went  through  the  gate  the  silence 
was  broken,  and  Tiny  heard  the  clergyman  say- 
ing, Weep  no  longer,  children  — my  house  shall 


76 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE.- 


be  your  home  — my  wife  shall  be  your  mother. 
Come,  let  us  go  back  to  our  home.” 

And  Grace  and  Tiny  went  their  way.  On, 
and  on,  and  on,  through  the  narrow  filthy  street, 
out  into  the  open  country.  Through  a desert, 
and  a forest,  and  it  seemed  as  if  poor  Tiny  would 
sing  his  very  life  away.  For  wherever  those 
appeared  who  seemed  to  need  the  voice  of  human 
pity,  or  brotherly  love,  or  any  act  of  charity,  the 
voice  and  hand  of  Tiny  were  upraised.  And 
every  hour,  which  ever  way  he  went,  he  found 
The  World  had  Need  of  him  ! 

They  had  no  better  guide  than  that  with  which 
they  set  out  on  their  search  for  the  Beautiful 
Gate.  But  Tiny’s  heart  was  opened,  and  it  led 
him  wherever  there  was  misery,  and  want,  and 
sin,  and  grief,  and  fiowers  grew  up  in  the  path 
he  trod,  and  sparkling  springs  burst  forth  in 
desert  places. 

And  then  as  to  his  blindness. 

Fast  he  held  by  the  hand  of  the  beggar-girl  as 
they  went  on  their  way  together,  but  the  film 


THE  BEAUTIFITL  GATE. 


was  withdrawing  from  his  eye  balls.  When  he 
turned  them  up  towards  the  Heaven  if  they 
could  not  yet  discern  that,  they  could  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  earth ! So  he  said  within  him- 
self, Surely  we  are  in  the  right  way  — we  shall 
yet  come  to  the  Beautiful  Gate,  and  I shall  have 
my  sight  again.  Then  will  I hasten  to  my  fath- 
er’s house,  and  when  all  is  forgiven  me,  I will 
say  to  my  mother,  Beceive  this  child  I bring  thee 
for  a daughter,  for  she  has  been  my  guide  through 
a weary  way  ; and  I know  that  my  mother  will 
love  my  little  sister  Grace.” 

And  what  then,”  asked  a voice  in  Tiny’s  soul, 
^^What  then  wilt  thou  do?  ” 

“Labor,  till  I die!”  exclaimed  Tiny  aloud, 
with  flashing  eyes. 

“ But  for  what.  Poet,  wilt  thou  labor  ? ” 

“ For  the  poor  world  that  needs  me,”  bravely 
cried  he  with  a mighty  voice. 

“ Ah,”  whispered  something  faintly  in  his  ear 
with  a taunting  voice,  that  pierced  his  heart  like 
a sharp  sword  — “ah,  you  said  that  once  before 
— and  fine  work  you  made  of  it!  ” 


78 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


Tiny  made  no  answer  to  this  taunt,  with  words, 
but  with  all  the  strength  of  his  great  poet  mind 
he  cried  again,  ^^Por  the  poor  world  that  needs 
me,”  and  the  vow  was  registered  in  Heaven,  and 
angels  were  sent  to  strengthen  him  in  that  deter- 
mination— him  who  was  to  sing  the  Hew  Song 
to  the  Lord. 

A long  way  further  Grace  and  Tiny  walked 
together  on  their  journey  — they  walked  in  si- 
lence, thinking  so  fast  that,  without  knowing  it, 
they  were  almost  on  a run  in  the  attempt  their 
feet  were  making  to  keep  pace  with  their  thoughts. 
At  length  Grace  broke  the  silence  with  a sudden 
cry. 

Oh  Tiny,  what  is  this ! ” 

Tiny  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
then  he  stood  stock  still  as  if  he  were  turned  to 
stone. 

Oh  Tiny,  can  you  see  ? ” again  exclaimed 
Grace,  who  was  watching  her  companion’s  face 
in  a great  wonder,  it  became  so  changed  all  at 
once.  Oh  Tiny,  Tiny  can  you  see  ? ” she  cried 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 


19 


again,  in  terror,  for  he  did  not  answer  her,  hut 
grew  paler  and  paler,  swaying  to  and  fro  like  a 
reed  in  the  wind,  until  he  fell  like  one  dead  upon 
the  ground,  saying — ‘‘My  home!  my  home  — 
and  the  Beautiful  Gate  is  here ! 

Just  then  an  old  man  came  slowly  from  the 
forest,  near  to  which  they  had  come  in  their 
journey.  His  head  was  bent,  he  moved  slowly 
like  one  in  troubled  thought,  and  as  he  walked 
he  said  to  himself,  “ Long  have  I toiled,  bring- 
ing these  forest  trees  into  this  shape — and  people 
know  what  I have  done  — of  their  own  free  will 
they  call  it  a Beautiful  Gate.  But  oh,  if  I could 
only  find  the  blind  one  lying  before  it  ready  to 
be  carried  through  it  to  his  mother ! then  indeed 
it  would  be  beautiful  to  me.  Oh  Tiny ! oh  my 
child,  when  wilt  thou  return  from  thy  long  wan- 
derings.” 

“ Please  sir,”  said  a child’s  voice  — it  was  the 
voice  of  our  little  Grace,  you  know — “ please 
sir,  will  you  come  and  help  me  ? ” and  she  ran 
back  to  the  place  where  Tiny  lay. 


80 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  G-ATE. 


Swiftly  as  a bird  on  wing  went  Josiab  with 
the  child.  Without  a word  he  lifted  up  the 
senseless  Poet  and  the  Broken  Harp,  and  with  the 
precious  burden  passed  on  through  the  Beauti- 
ful Gate  of  the  Forest,  into  the  cottage  Home — 
Grace  following  him ! 

Once  more  the  Broken  Harp  hung  on  the 
kitchen  wall  — no  longer  broken.  Once  more 
the  swallows  and  the  poet  slept  side  by  side,  in 
their  comfortable  nests.  Once  more  old  Kitty’s 
eyes  grew  bright.  Once  more  Josiah  smiled. 
Again  a singing  voice  went  echoing  through  the 
world,  working  miracles  of  good.  Rich  men 
heard  it  and  opened  their  purses.  Proud  men 
heard  it  and  grew  humble.  Angry  voices  heard 
it  and  grew  soft.  Wicked  spirits  heard  it  and 
grew  beautiful  in  charities.  The  sick,  and  sad, 
and  desolate  heard  it  and  were  at  peace.  Mourn- 
ers heard  it  and  rejoiced.  The  songs  that  voice 
sang,  echoed  through  the  churches,  through  the 
streets ; and  by  ten  thousand  thousand  firesides 
they  were  sung  again  and  yet  again.  But  all 


THE  BEAUTFUL  GATE. 


81 


the  while  the  great  Heart,  the  mighty,  loving, 
Human  Heart  from  which  they  came,  was  nes- 
tled in  that  little  nest  of  home  on  the  border  of 
the  forest,  far  away  from  all  the  world’s  tempta- 
tions, in  the  safe  shelter  of  a household’s  love. 

How  if  Tiny  had  ever  had  a cross  to  bear,  and 
if  he  bore  it  well,  I shall  leave  you  to  decide, 
dear  children. 

0 


^ had  run  down — the  clock  had — and 
stopped. 

Janet  took  the  light  with  her  when 
I she  went  from  the  room — how  still 
and  dark  it  was  there! — dead  still- 
ness, and  perfect . darkness  like  that  of  the 
grave. 

While  the  clock  ticked,  and  the  light  burned, 
the  wakeful  Canary  in  the  cage  above  the  win- 
dow hopped  to  and  fro,  and  chirped  occasion- 
ally, and  pecked  at  the  bit  of  fish  bone  with 
which  the  wires  w’ere  ornamented ; but  now,  in 
the  silence  and  gloom,  the  little  creature  was 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


83 


sleeping,  with  head  bent  nnder  its  wing,  and  if 
it  dreamed  — I wonder  if  birds  do  really  dream  ; 
what  do  yon  think  about  it  ? — the  dream  was 
very  pleasant  I am  sure,  for  what  on  earth  was 
there  to  trouble  the  heart  of  that  bird  ? 

It  led  a happy  life  there  in  the  beautiful  cage. 
But  I would  not  have  you  imagine  that  the  life 
was  happy  because  the  cage  was  so  fine.  No 
doubt  the  Canary  was  more  comfortable  than  it 
would  have  been,  if  the  person  who  had  charge 
of  it  had  not  taken  such  care  to  make  its  little 
home  very  neat  and  clean  every  day  ; but  birds, 
you  know,  are  not  like  those  foolish  people  who 
will  not  be  glad,  and  happy,  and  songful,  unless 
all  their  idle,  selfish  wishes  are  gratified. 

I remember  a bird,  dead  now  these  five  years  ; 
it  was  not  a very  prettj^  one,  its  wings  were 
brown  instead  of  golden,  and  it  lived  in  a poor 
old  pine  cage — but  it  had  the  sweetest  notes 
in  the  world,  which  it  learned  from  our  pastor’s 
linnet. 

The  pastor’s  bird  had  a fine  large  cage  of  rose- 


84:  A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 

wood,  and  there  was  a bathing  tub  and  a swing 
in  it;  — the  corner  posts  were  mounted  with 
bright  brass  balls,  and  beautiful  flowers  were 
painted  on  the  cage  ; but  do  you  suppose  that 
the  Canary  in  its  old  pine  house,  some  of  the 
wires  of  which  were  broken  and  only  mended 
with  bits  of  string — do  you  suppose  that  our  Ca- 
nary was  not  just  as  happy  as  the  high-bred 
linnet  was  ? 

All  day  long  the  bird  that  I began  to  tell 
about  sang  in  the  pari  or,  but  at  night  the  cage 
was  taken  into  the  nursery,  and  hung  over  the 
window,  as  I said.  It  was  the  children’s  fancy, 
that  their  pet  should  have  a bed-chamber,  as 
well  as  themselves. 

Fanny  and  ’Bel  were  both  wide  awake.  Usu- 
ally they  were  fast  asleep  before  this  time ; but 
Fanny  took  a thought  to  bed  with  her,  and  it 
troubled  her,  and  therefore  she  could  not  sleep. 
And  this  thought  she  was  sharing  with  little 
’Bel. 

Janet,  the  new  nurse-girl,  had  told  Fanny  a 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


85 


sad  story  about  a child  whose  lot  in  life  was  ex- 
ceedingly hard  and  disagreeable,  — whose  father 
and  mother  died  while  she  was  very  young — 
and  after  that  she  had  no  home  of  her  own.  So 
she  was  obliged  to  go  and  live  among  strangers 
— now  with  one  family,  and  then  with  another. 
And  some  had  abused  her ; they  had  compelled 
her  to  work  far  beyond  her  strength  ; and  they 
cared  no  more  for  her,  the  nurse  girl  said,  for  it 
was  herself  that  she  was  telling  about,  than  if 
she  had  been  a spinning  jenny,  instead  of  a 
human  Janet. 

The  girl  cried  when  she  told  the  story,  and 
Fanny  cried,  too,  but  when  she  saw  that,  the 
girl  said  — “Hush,  child!  there’s  no  use?  Ev- 
erybody has  a CROSS  to  bear.  I have  mine  — 
you’ll  have  yours,  you  may  be  sure.  Don’t 
cry.” 

This  was  the  story  that  Fanny  told  to  ’Bel, 
instead  of  one  of  the  fairy  tales  she  had  told  on 
other  nights  for  her  sister ; and  ’Bel  did  not  fall 
asleep  as  she  sometimes  did  when  she  was  trying 


86 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


to  listen.  No — nor  for  a long  time  after  Fanny 
had  stopped  speaking.  She  felt  so  grieved  for 
Janet ! 

And  the  little  sisters  said  to  each  other,  “We 
will  have  mamma  keep  Janet  always,  and  we 
will  be  sure  not  to  tease  her;  we  won’t  be  cross, 
or  rude,  and  oim  home  shall  be  her  home.  She 
shall  live  with  ns  always.” 

“ And  if  she  wants,”  said  ’Bel,  “ she  may  have 
our  Canary  to  sleep  in  her  room,  sometimes.” 

^^Yes,  to  be  sure,”  said  Fanny,  but  we 
would  n’t  do  that  for  everybody.”  Yet,  though 
they  became  quite  joyous,  thinking  of  all  that 
they  would  do  on  the  morrow,  and  all  the  days 
after  to-morrow,  in  order  to  make  Janet  happy, 
and  that  she  might  feel  sure  that  she  really  had 
a home  on  earth,  there  was  still  another  idea 
that  would  come  back  and  trouble  Fanny.  For 
a long  time  she  lay  and  thought  upon  it  quietly, 
but  at  last  she  whispered,  “ ’Bel  ? ” 

’Bel  was  asleep,  and  made  no  reply. 

Fanny  was  so  bent  on  expressing  what  was  in 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS.  87 

her  mind  that  she  said  again,  and  in  quite  a loud 
whisper, 

’Bel ! did  Johnny  say  that  he  would  take  us 
in  his  sleigh,  to-morrow  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  answered  ’Bel ; but  she  was  not  yet 
quite  awake. 

Fanny  was  going  on  to  say. 

Are  n’t  you  glad  we  are  going  to  school  at 
last?”  — 

But  just  at  that  instant  the  moon  came  out 
from  behind  a cloud,  and  its  light  streamed 
through  the  window  and  fell  upon  the  bed.  And 
Fanny  was  so  startled  and  surprised  by  the  sud- 
den flowing  in  of  light,  that  she  forgot  what  she 
had  intended  to  say. 

There  was  a rose  tree,  whose  branches  had 
been  trained  upon  the  brick  wall  of  the  house. 
Some  of  these  branches  were  so  trained  that  they 
formed  a very  pretty  shade  for  the  window  in 
summer  time.  But  now,  it  being  winter,  the 
stems  were  all  bare,  and  the  moonlight  falling 
upon  these,  cast  their  shadows  within  the  room, 


88 


A STOEY  OF  THE  CKOS8. 


and  Fanny,  watching  them,  fancied  that  these 
shadows  fell  upon  the  wall  in  the  form  of  a 
cross  — which  they  really  did. 

This  seemed  all  the  more  strange  to  Fanny, 
because  she  had  been  thinking  so  much  about 
the  cross,  and  when  all  at  once  the  shadow  dis- 
appeared, and  the  room  became  very  dark,  she 
began  to  believe  there  was  some  odd  witch-work 
going  on,  and  she  was  afraid,  and  hid  her  face 
under  the  bed-clothes.  But  in  a minute  more, 
ashamed  of  her  fear,  Fanny  sat  up  in  the  bed 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  m5on 
seemed  to  be  just  sailing  out  from  beyond  a 
great  cloud  — so  that  was  all  the  magic  there 
was  about  it ! — a cloud  had  passed  between  the 
earth  and  the  moon ! — and  Fanny  laughed  when 
she  thought  what  a trifle  it  was  that  had  fright- 
ened her  so  much. 

It  was  now  bright  as  day  in  the  room.  You 
could  have  seen  to  read  there  without  the  least 
difficulty.  Fanny  looked  for  the  cross.  There 
it  was  on  the  wall  — its  outline  was  perfect. 


A STOKY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


89 


Then  her  eyes  glanced  about  the  room.  Luof 
looked  fiercer  and  handsomer  than  ever  — this 
was  a portrait  of  Uncle  Henry’s  splendid  New- 
foundland dog,  and  Johnny  had  hung  it  up  in 
his  sister’s  room,  because  the  walls  of  his  own 
room  were  covered  with  pictures  already.  They 
were  all  very  fond  of  this  portrait  — ’Bel  thought 
it  a great  deal  better  than  it  would  be  to  have 
the  real  living  animal  among  them,  for  pictures 
never  bark  aud  growl,  though  oftentimes  they 
look  as  if  nothing  would  please  them  better,  if 
they  only  could  contrive  to  find  the  voice ! 

There,  full  in  sight,  was  the  little  table  with 
the  book-case,  in  which  the  girls  kept  their  books 
— a nice  lot  they  had ; — there  were  fairy  tales, 
and  books  of  poetry,  and  history,  and  travel, — ■ 
very  precious  were  all  these ; and  Fanny  could 
have  told  you  all  their  nanies  if  you  had  asked 
her  to  do  so  ; still  it  was  only  for  a moment  that 
she  thought  of  them  now.  It  was  of  the  cross 
that  she  was  thinking.  On  another  table,  just 
under  the  window  sill,  was  the  toy  house  ; this, 


90 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


too,  the  little  wakeful  girl  could  see  distinctly 
when  her  eyes  were  directed  that  way,  but  it 
was  only  for  a moment  that  she  thought  of  ’Bel’s 
doll,  and  its  beautiful  new  dress.  It  was  of  the 
cross  that  she  was  thinking.  The  cross ! The 
cross ! 

It  was  all  about  what  Janet  had  told  her  that 
she  thought; — ^how  Janet  had  said  that  every- 
body had  a cross  of  their  own  to  bear.  Now 
was  this  true  that  the  nurse  girl  said  ? Why 
must  everybody  bear  a cross  ? Must  she,  and 
’Bel,  and  Johnny?  Really  and  truly?  Fanny 
could  not  believe  it.  More  especially  when  she 
thought  of  ’Bel,  who  was  so  bright  and  pretty. 
To  bear  a cross  — that  must  be  dreadful.  What 
did  it  mean  ? What  did  it  really  mean  ? That 
was  what  she  asked  herself  again  and  again. 
Then  she  thought  of  Janet.  Why,  it  meant  to 
lose  father  and  mother,  and  to  be  very  poor,  and 

I 

then  be  compelled  to  go  out  into  the  world  and 
have  no  home  — to  work  for  people ; and  to  sit, 
and  eat,  and  sleep,  where  the  people  chose  to 


2 


A STORY  OF  THE  GROSS. 


91 


have  them  — and  to  do  whatever  the  people 
told  them  to  do.  That  was  what  it  meant — yes, 
it  must  certainly  mean  that.  Now  wonld  all 
this  happen  to  Johnny,  and  ’Bel,  and  herself? 
No,  it  could  not  be  possible.  Fanny  did  not 
believe  a word  of  it, — what  a wicked  story  it 
was  that  Janet  had  told!  And  yet,  when  Fan- 
ny went  to  sleep,  she  was  still  wondering  what 
her  cross  would  be. 

She  did  not  know,  she  could  not  guess  even, 
though  before  she  closed  her  eyes,  she  was  so 
careful  to  place  herself  in  that  particular  posi- 
tion in  which  she  always  slept,  because  her  spine 
was  diseased,  and  she  was  growing  up  in  defor- 
mity— a crooked,  sickly  little  girl. 


II. 

The  next  day,  as  it  had  been  arranged,  Fanny 
and  ’Bel  went,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  new 
school ; and  as  he  had  promised  to  do,  Johnny 
carried  them  in  his  sleigh. 


92 


A STOEY  OF  THE  CEOSS. 


With  great  impatience  had  they  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  this  school  should  he 
opened.  For  it  was  to  he  taught  hy  a lady 
whom  they  knew  very  well,  and  loved  very 
much,  and  ’Bel  said  that  she  was  the  hest  story- 
teller in  the  world ; — hut  ’Bel  was  a very  little 
girl,  and  said  a great  many  absurd  things  that 
everybody  laughed  at.  It  is  not  probable  that 
she  knew  all  about  the  thousand  and  one  good 
story-tellers  there  are  in  the  world ! 

It  was  a short  and  very  happy  day  to  ’Bel, 
just  such  an  one  as  she  had  anticipated.  But 
it  was  a long,  dark  day  to  Fanny  — the  longest 
and  the  darkest  she  had  ever  known.  However, 
it  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  no  one  knew  how 
much  she  had  been  troubled  by  something  she 
had  heard. 

In  the  morning  she  was  standing  for  a few 
moments  alone  by  the  stove  in  the  school  room, 
and  at  a little  distance  were  two  older  and  lar- 
ger girls;  neither  of  them  had  she  ever  seen 
before.  One  of  these  girls,  looking  at  Fanny, 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS.  0?^ 

said  in  a whisper,  but  Eanny  distinctly  heard 
her, 

“ Is  she  not  pretty,  Helen  ? ” 

And  the  other  made  some  reply  that  Fanny 
could  not  hear.  Then  the  first  speaker  said  very 
gently, 

What  a pity ! but  I should  love  her  all  the 
more,  I ’m  sure.  She  looks  so  very  patient.” 

Then  in  an  instant  it  fiashed  across  the  little 
girPs  mind  — she  knew  why  they  pitied  her; 
also  she  knew  why  her  mother  had  said,  when 
they  all  talked  about  the  new  school  at 
home  — 

My  darling,  I had  rather  you  would  not  go 
to  school  yet,  for  a year  or  two  : but  if  you  wish 
so  much  to  go,  and  papa  thinks  it  best,  why,” 
— -and  Fanny  remembered  how  seriously  her 
mother  ‘smiled  when  ’Bel  climbed  up  on  her 
father’s  knee,  and  kissed  him  until  he  said, 
“Yes,  yes!  you  shall  both  go  to  school — yes, 
certainly  1 ” 

And  yet,  though  so  much  was  now  explained 


94 


A STORY  OF  THE  GROSS. 


to  Fanny,  she  could  not  have  told  even  then 
what  was  the  cross  that  she  must  hear. 

Night  came  again  ; and  again  the  young  sis- 
ters were  lying  side  by  side  in  the  silence  and 
darkness  of  their  pleasant  chamber.  In  the  si- 
lence, I said,  yet  the  clock  was  ticking  loudly  ; 
and  the  Canary  hopped  from  one  perch  to  an- 
other, and  from  time  to  time  pecked  at  the  fish 
bone — ^ but  it  did  not  chirp  or  sing  — and  we  do 
not  say  that  a ticking  clock  and  a restless  bird 
break  the  silence, — when  we  are  very  busy  with 
our  thoughts,  we  have  no  hearing  for  such 
things.  And  Fanny  and  ’Bel  were  very  busy 
thinking.  Presently  ’Bel  said, — 

It ’s  the  very  pleasantest  day  I ever  spent 
in  all  my  life.  I hope  we  shall  go  to  school 
to  Miss  Lansing  always!  do’nt  you,  Fan- 
ny ? And  if  you  ’ll  only  just  tell  me  that  story 
about  The  Witch  in  the  Well,  I’ll  go  to  sleep 
in  a minute.” 

And  so  Fanny  told  the  story  — it  was  the 
prettiest  of  all  she  knew.  And,  to  be  sure,  ’Bel 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


95 


was  asleep  before  it  was  half  through;  she 
knew  nothing  abont  the  ache  that  was  in  Fan- 
ny’s heart. 

The  moon  shone  bright  and  clear  again  that 
night  — brighter  and  clearer  than  it  did  the  last 
night, — and  if  there  was  any  difference,  it  was 
that  the  shadow  of  the  cross  ” on  the  wall  was 
more  distinct  to  Fanny’s  eyes  than  it  had  been 
the  night  before. 

When  she  raised  herself  in  the  bed,  and  look- 
ed at  little  ’Bel  as  she  slept  so  quietly,  Fanny 
thought  to  herself — “ I shall  never  sleep  in  that 
way  again,” — and  indeed  she  began  to  wonder 
within  herself,  if  it  was  likely  that  she  should 
ever  sleep  at  all  again.  But  even  while  she 
wondered  thus,  it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do 
to  keep  her  eyes  open ; — and  the  tears  which 
for  a few  moments  flowed  so  hot  and  fast  down 
her  cheeks,  ceased  to  gather  in  her  eyes ; and 
presently  she  slumbered  as  peacefully  and  hap- 
pily, even  as  little  ’Bel,  and  the  last  thing  she 
thought  about  while  awake  was  the  verse  of  the 


96 


A 8T0EY  OF  THE  CEOSS. 


Psalm  lier  father  read  that  night  ■ — • He  giveth 
his  beloved  in  their  sleep.”  But  though  she 
remembered  the  verse,  she  did  not  know  half 
its  beautiful,  deep  meaning.  I wonder  if  you 
know  it,  who  are  reading  at  this  very  minute 
about  Fanny  Bay  ? 

But  what  happened  to  her  in  her  sleep  that 
night,  was  the  strangest  of  all.  I must  tell  you 
about  Fanny’s  Deeam. 

She  was  with  ’Bel  at  school.  And  first  she 
heard  a trumpet  sound.  It  was  ten  thousand 
times  louder  than  the  tiny,  tinkling,  brass  bell 
Miss  Lansing  rung  in  the  school-room.  Louder 
than  the  clock  in  the  court  house,  that  told  all 
the  villagers  of  every  new  hour  as  it  came. 
Louder  even  than  the  great  bell  in  the  church 
belfrey,  which  people  could  hear  off  in  the 
country,  three  miles  away,  on  a Sunday.  And 
a more  powerful  sound  than  that,  either  from 
trumpet  or  bell,  Fanny  had  never  thought 
there  could  be.  It  was  a mighty,  yet  a sweet 
sound ; and  the  dreamer  thought.  Surely  nobody 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


97 


in  all  the  world  can  help  hearing  the  sound  of 
that  trumpet, — and  she  said  to  herself  beside, 
It  is  a great  wonder  if  the  dead  do  not  hear  it, 
for  the  echo  seems  to  till  all  the  air,  and  to  shake 
the  earth. 

She  was  in  the  school-room  when  the  great 
trumpet  sounded.  And  immediately  when  they 
heard  it,  as  with  one  impulse,  the  teacher  and 
all  the  children  arose,  and  went  out  in  silence, 
looking  at  each  other,  and  wondering  what  that 
blast  of  the  trumpet  should  mean.  And  Fanny 
and  ’Bel  went  hand  in  hand  at  first.  And  the 
teacher  said,  by  a look,  for  Fanny  heard  no 
sound  of  a voice,  Be  cautious  — there’s  no 
need  of  such  haste.” 

Some  of  the  scholars  there  were  that  seemed 
neither  to  hear  the  trumpet,  nor  to  notice  what 
the  teacher  said  with  her  eyes,  after  they  were 
once  outside  the  school-room  door.  But  they 
began  noisily  to  chase  about,  and  play  with  each 
other  in  the  yard  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
school-  ouse  stood.  For  it  was  summer,  and 
7 


98 


A S T O K Y OF  THE  C K O S S - 


not  winter^  in  Fanny^s  dream  ; and  she  saw,  as 
plain  as  any  one  ever  saw  with  eyes  wide  open, 
how  the  grass  in  the  fields  was  beautiful  and 
green  — and  that  the  brook  was  dancing  along  as 
merrily  as  could  be  — and  that  the  dandelions 
shone  “like  stars  in  the  grass’’  — and  the  or- 
chard trees  were  all  covered  over  with  blos- 
soms ; so  of  course  it  was  summer  in  her  dream. 
But  there  w^ere  many  of  the  scholars  who  fol- 
lowed on  after  the  teacher.  Not,  however,  be- 
cause she  led  them, — for  she  did  not.  She  also 
seemed  guided,  just  as  they  were,  by  something 
they  could  neither  see  nor  hear — for  it  certainly 
was  not  the  trumpet  sound  that  made  them  all 
move  in  the  direction  they  did.  As  I said  before, 
the  trumpet  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  world  with 
sound,  and  none  could  tell  if  it  came  from  east, 
west,  north,  or  south  — and  it  was  no  more  to 
be  seen  than  is  the  wind.  And  as  to  the  wind, 
you  know  that  no  man  can  see  that,  or  tell 
whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth,  as  our 
Saviour  said  when  he  was  on  the  earth. 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


99 


And  the  teacher  and  the  children  went  on  to- 
gether rapidly,  but  without  noise  or  confusion, 
until  they  came  to  the  foot  of  a great  hill ; — up- 
on tliat  hill  no  grass  grew,  no  trees  were  there  ; 
and  in  many  places  the  rock  was  quite  bare, 
and  stood  out  from  the  yellow  earth  in  sharp 
points.  It  was  a wild,  rugged  height.  Would 
they  climb  it  ? Could  they  if  they  tried  ? Also 
no  sunlight  fell  upon  this  hill  — but  a dark,  sol- 
emn shade  spread  over  it ; only  when  the  teach- 
er and  the  children  looked  up  to  the  very  top  of 
it,  could  they  see  that  the  sun  was  shining  there- 
on — and  oh ! how  Fanny  Ray’s  heart  beat  when 
she  saw  upon  that  summit  the  great  cross  — it 
was  like  a crown  to  the  hill  — and  the  sunshine 
fell  so  brightly  over  it  as  to  make  her  eyes  fill 
with  tears  when  she  looked  thereon.  She  sha- 
ded her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  began  to  think. 
Must  not  all  this  mystery  have  some  deep, 
beautiful  meaning  ? And  she  said  to  herself, 
“ Surely,  ’Bel  and  I will  learn  here  what  our 
cross  is.”  And  as  she  said  it,  Fanny  perceived 


100 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


for  tlie  first  time,  that  ’Bel  was  not  v/itli  her  — 
they  had  been  separated  in  the  crowd. 

At  any  other  time  Fanny  wonld  have  felt 
greatly  alarmed,  both  for  ’Bel  and  for  herself, 
separated  and  alone  thus  in  a crowd.  For  a great 
number  of  people  were  now  gathering  together, 
not  one  of  whom  had  she  ever  seen  before.  But 
now  she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid,  for  all  the 
people  were  looking  up  at  the  cross,  just  as  she 
herself  was  doing. 

While  she  stood  and  gazed  with  all  the  rest, 
Fanny  heard  suddenly  a voice,  that  was  not 
like  any  voice  she  had  ever  heard  before,  calling 
to  her.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  cross  on 
the  hill-top ; and  then  she  distinctly  saw  a Hand. 
It  beckoned  to  her  from  that  cross ! For  an  in- 
stant Fanny  was  in  doubt  and  bewilderment. 
Had  she  heard  that  Voice  ? — had  she  tru- 

ly seen  that  Hand  ? — or  was  it  all  only  a fancy  ? 
While  she  asked  herself  these  questions  the  lit- 
tle girl  looked  around  her,  afraid  to  speak  or 
move, — she  felt  very  faint,  and  dizzy  beside ; 


A STOliY  OF  THE  CEOSS. 


101 


and  would  have  fallen,  but  for  a Hand  that  up- 
held her.  And  yet,  when  she  turned  herself, 
quickly,  that  she  might  see  who  it  was  that  sup- 
ported her,  she  perceived  that  she  was  standing 
apart  from  all  the  crowd,  alone  by  herself — 
and  then,  what  was  still  more  strange,  she  saw 
that,  without  knowing  what  she  did,  she  had  be- 
gun to  climb  the  hill. 

She  was  ascending  towards  the  cross.  But 
now  the  hill  seemed  to  have  grown  into  a moun- 
tain — and  further  off  than  ever  stood  that 
cross,  and  the  way  was  even  more  difficult  and 
rugged  than  it  had  appeared  to  be.  And,  poor 
Fanny ! she  was  very  faint  and  weak,  and  half 
the  time  when  she  looked  up  she  could  see  no 
cross  at  all,  it  was  even  gloomier  and  darker 
around  the  place  where  it  had  stood,  (and  where, 
though  she  could  not  see  it,  she  believed  it  was 
still  standing,)  than  along  the  path  through 
which  she  went. 

If  only  little  ’Bel  were  with  her ! — or  if  any 
one  were  with  her ; — if  a bird  would  only  sing, 


102 


A STOIiY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


and  break  the  silence ! — or  if  she  could  see  any 
flowers  growing  by  the  way  — or  if  the  sun 
would  only  shine  ! and  in  her  dream,  and  with 
her  own  voice,  Fanny  called  aloud,  “ Oh  ’Bel, 
come  with  me  ! ” But  ’Bel  slept  on,  and  Fanny 
slept  on;  and  in  the  dream  went  up  the  hill 
alone, — still  alone. 

At  last,  after  long  toiling,  she  was  fairly  ar- 
rived at  what  seemed  to  her  the  summit  of  the 
mountain.  And  all  was  dark  there.  The  weary 
child  sat  down  upon  the  rock  against  which  her 
foot  had  stumbled ; she  was  afraid  to  go  farther ; 
no  voice  was  calling  her  now,  — no  hand  was 
leading, — there  was  no  sunlight  up  there  where 
she  had  thought  to  find  it. 

She  looked  back  upon  the  long  way  by  which 
she  had  come.  Oh,  how  beautiful ! There,  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  lay  the  village,  and 
the  meadows,  and  the  gardens ; and  over  them 
all  was  the  sunlight  bright  and  warm!  She 
could  see  the  dandelions  in  the  grass  — the  brook 
dancing  on  its  way  through  the  fields  and  the 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


103 


wood  — the  old  school-house — the  church,  and — 
yes,  there  it  was ! how  distinctly  she  could  see 
it  from  the  high  mountain  in  the  dream ! — her 
own  father’s  house.  The  rose-tree  that  was 
trained  over  the  nurserj^  window  was  in  full 
bloom,  and  the  Canary’s  cage  was  hung  in  the 
window,  and  the  bird,  Fanny  knew,  was  talking 
to  the  roses.  But  what  he  said  to  them,  that 
Fanny  could  not  hear,  because  she  was  listening 
again  to  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  which  seemed 
to  fill  heaven  and  earth  with  its  grand,  solemn 
melody.  And  while  she  listened  she  bent  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  and  forgot  the  lovely  scene 
upon  which  she  had  been  looking, — forgot  even 
the  wish  she  had  just  felt,  that  she  might  go 
back  to  the  dear  village,  and  remain  there. 

For  the  trumpet  seemed  to  be  saying  some- 
thing to  her.  What  was  it  ? That  was  more 
than  Fanny  for  a long  time  could  tell.  Though, 
while  she  listened  she  could  but  say  to  herself. 
If  I wait,  and  am  patient,  and  try  to  under- 
stand it,  I shall  surely  be  able  very  soon.”  And 


104: 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


true  enough,  it  was  presently  with  her  the  same 
as  if  she  had  been  deaf,  and  a physician  had 
made  her  to  hear — or,  as  if  she  had  taken  up  a 
book,  written  in  some  foreign  language,  and 
without  study  found  that  she  could  read  it — for 
the  voice  of  the  trumpet  was  really  a Yoice,  and 
it  said  to  her. 

Arise,  and  go  thy  way  — thy  cross  is  wait- 
ing for  thee.’’ 

So  she  should  have  it  at  last ! What  Janet 
had  said  was  true  after  all ! It  was  true  that 
she  had  been  led  up  that  mountain ; and  some 
one  she  could  not  see  was  still  v/atching  over  her 
and  caring  for  her!  She  was  not  after  all  a 
foolish,  lost  girl,  that  had  wandered  away  from 
home  to  die  up  there  alone,  in  the  wild,  dark 
place ! And  in  her  dream  poor  Fanny  re- 
joiced. 

When  she  again  arose  she  cast  another  look 
down  the  mountain,  before  she  began  to  ascend 
further.  And  lo  ! the  hill  was  now  nearly  cov- 
ered with  persons  who  had  set  out  for  the  sum- 


A S T O K Y O ¥ THE  C II  O 8 S . 


105 


mit,  even  as  she  had  done  ; and  there,  toiling 
among  the  rest,  was  the  darling  little  ’Eel ! 

Then  Fanny  said  to  herself — for  now  she  felt 
very  happy  and  courageous  — I will  wait  here 
for  ’Bel  ” — and  then  the  next  minute  she  thought 

— “No,  I will  go  and  meet  her,  and  help  her 
along  — poor  ’Bel,  she  will  be  so  weary,  ” — but 
before  she  could  take  a single  step  down  the 
hill,  the  Yoice  said, 

“ Go  up  ! Go  up  ! ” very  sternly  and  with  a 
mighty  emphasis  it  was  said  — and  Fanny  dared 
not  linger  any  longer. 

Fear  drove  her  on  at  first,  but  soon  the  fear 
passed  away,  and  in  her  desire  to  reach  the  end 
of  her  journey  the  little  girl’s  curiosity,  about 
those  who  were  coming  after  her,  disappeared. 

And  at  last  the  mountain  top  was  really 
reached.  Then  Fanny  thought,  in  her  dream, 
that  she  should  die  ; her  strength  went  from  her, 

— she  fell  upon  the  ground, — yet  she  felt  no 
fear  now  — she  was  at  peace. 

But  she  did  not  fall  asleep  in  her  dream  — the 


106 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


dream  did  not  end  here — for  now  upon  the  mild 
air  rose  the  sound  of  a Voice  that  was  not  like 
the  voice  of  the  trumpet,  nor  like  her  mother’s 
voice,  nor  like  any  that  she  had  ever  heard  in 
all  her  life  before,  for  it  was  sweeter  and  ten- 
derer, and  also  more  powerful — it  said  to  her. 

My  Child  ! ” 

And  Fanny  was  lifted  from  the  ground  in  her 
dream,  and  when  she  raised  her  eyes  she  per- 
ceived that  see  was  leaning  against  the  great 
cross,  and  the  Hand  that  had  beckoned  to  her  to 
come  from  the  crowd,  was  reaching  down  from 
it,  and  the  Hand  rested  on  her  head,  as  if  it 
would  bless  her — even  her,  poor  Fanny  Ray. 

Surely  a blessing  had  now  been  pronounced 
upon  her — yes,  of  that  Fanny  was  quite  certain, 
when  she  felt  the  tender  pressure  of  the  Hand 
upon  her  head ; — and  in  her  dream,  Fanny  was 
so  happy  that  her  heart  sang  for  joy.  Then  she 
remembered  little  ’Bel,  and  turned  her  eyes 
again  to  the  mountain  path,  that  she  might  see 
what  had  become  of  her.  And  there  was  the 


8 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


107 


child,  still  coming  on,  yet  staying  sometimes  by 
the  way,  and  turning  to  look  back,  as  slie  her- 
self had  done  ! Fanny  trembled  when  she  saw 
this  wavering  and  weariness,  lest  the  little  one 
should  be  tempted  to  return  to  the  paths  and 
the  meadows  which  looked  so  very  pleasant  from 
every  place,  except  from  that  place  last  gained, 
where  Fanny  now  stood — beneath  the  cross  of 
the  Saviour. 

But  even  while  she  feared,  Fanny  leaned  with 
yet  more  and  more  reliance  upon  that  sure  sup- 
port, and  when  her  heart  was  most  like  to  cry  out 
in  its  fear  for  ’Bel,  she  still  looked  upon  the  cross, 
and  the  cry  was  changed  to  a prayer  — and  this 
was  the  prayer  ; that  the  Voice  that  had  called, 
and  the  Hand  that  had  saved  her,  would  do  the 
same  for  the  little  lonely  pilgrim.  Yet,  even 
when  she  made  this  prayer,  Fanny  ended  it  with, 

T hy  will  be  done^'^  because  she  felt  that  the 
Deliverer  would  be  sure  to  do  all  things  right 
and  well. 

And  now,  again  the  Voice  was  speaking  from 


108 


A STOKY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


on  high  and  it  said — ^^The  cross  that  I gave 
thee  to  bear,  my  child,  wilt  thou  not  crucify  on 
it  all  thy  pride  and  selfishness,  and  be  glad  to 
bear  it  because  I gave  it  to  thee  ? ’’ 

And  all  Fanny  Hay’s  heart  seemed  to  leap  up 
in  the  answer  she  made : “ Yea,  Lord,  I thank 
thee — I thank  thee  for  the  cross  ! ” 

The  sound  of  her  own  voice,  so  earnest  and  so 
loud,  wakened  the  little  girl. 

The  sun  was  shining  — the  Canary  singing  — 
tick,  tick,  went  the  clock  — there  stood  Janet  by 
the  bed-side,  come  to  waken  them  — ■ the  dream 
was  all  over^ — a strange,  beautiful  dream, — but 
it  had  ended  so  provokingly,  thought  Fanny, 
she  had  neither  seen  in  it  whether  ’Bel  really 
reached  the  top  of  the  mountain,  nor  learned 
what  cross  either  of  them  was  to  bear  ! That 
was  the  worst  of  all — for  she  was  sure  that  if 
the  dream  had  been  dreamed  through,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  end  of  it  had  been,  she  would  have 
felt  strong  enough  to  endure  anything  that  was 


A STORY  OF  THE  CROSS. 


109 


offered  to  her  as  her  cross.  But  the  dream  was 
over,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

Not  that  day  was  any  explanation  given  to 
the  dream ; and  many  a day,  and  many  a year, 
passed  by  before  it  was  all  made  plain  to  Fanny 
Ray ; but  there  came  a time  at  last  when  she 
understood  it  all.  She  ha(l  strength  then  to  bear 
the  knowledge  — and  she  had  grace  also — grace 
to  thank  God  for  that  strength,  and  to  say  to 
Him,  Thy  will  be  done,  O Lord,  my  strength 
and  my  Redeemer  ! ” Her  face  was  pale  with 
sickness,  and  her  poor  body  bent  with  pain  in 
those  years,  but  she  was  happy  and  at  peace,  as 
all  must  be,  no  matter  what  their  suffering  and 
sorrow,  if  they  trust  in  the  good  Lord  always. 
Pale  she  was,  and  crippled,  but  everybody 
loved  her  — and  that  our  Father  in  heaven  also 
loved  her,  we  all  knew.  How  did  we  know  it  ? 
Are  you  asking  that,  my  little  friend  ? Ponder 
it  in  your  heart  — and  then  you  will  understand  it 
all,  better,  oh,  far  better  than  I know  how  to  tell. 


strength.  One  thought  his  back 
^ would  surely  be  broken  every 
^ time  he  attempted  to  lift  it. 


HE  boy  carried  a hand-organ;  it 
fcwas  much  too  heavy  for  his 


T^e  girl  had  a tambourine  and  the  two  played 
togeVlpi*  and  sang  “ Home  ! sweet  Home.”  But 
they  had  n’t  a home  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the 
wide  earth. 

A crowd  collected  around  them  — and  after 
the  children  had  sung  their  best  pieces,  the  girl 
went  around  with  the  tambourne  in  her  hand, 
passing  from  one  person  to  another,  and  who- 
ever chose  to  do  so  dropped  in  some  money. 
There  was  one  boy  who  put  in  five-pence,  and 
took  ten-pence  out  in  change  ! — I saw  him  do 
it  from  my  window.  Much  good  may  the  cheat 
do  him  — the  fell^^'^^  ^ 


THE  LITTLE  STREET  SINGERS  111 

But  the  girl  did  n’t  notice  him.  She  seemed 
hardly  to  notice  at  all  whether  those  to  whom 
she  offered  the  contribution  box  gave  her  any- 
thing or  not  — for  she  was  very  tired,  and  her 
head  ached,  and  she  would  have  given  all  she 
had  in  the  world  to  have  crept  into  some  shed, 
and  lain  down  there  for  a little  sleep  ; her  feet 
were  so  sore,  and  her  head  ached  so  dreadfully. 

She  said  in  the  morning  to  Thomas,  “I  am 
very  tired  and  sick  ; oh,  do  let  me  stay  in  with 
you  to-day.” 

Thomas  was  the  man  who  traveled  with  Jack 
and  Nanny,  though  he  was  not  their  father,  nor 
brother  ; and  often  the  children  wondered  how 
they  ever  happened  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  so 
wicked  a person. 

But  though  when  he  looked  at  Nanny  he  must 
have  known  that  she  was  speaking  the  truth  — 
that  she  was  really  very  tired  and  sick  — the 
man  only  laughed  at  her,  and  called  her  a little 
fool,  and  said  she  was  saying  what  she  knew  was 
a wicked  lie.  So  he  sent  them  out  in  the  rain, 


112  THE  LITTLE  STREET  SINGERS. 

and  the  monkey  was  dressed  in  its  old  clothes, 
for  the  rain  would  have  spoiled  his  new  suit ; 
but  there  was  no  danger  that  the  rain  would 
spoil  the  old  rags  which  the  children  wore. 

He  sent  them  out,  and  they  wandered  about 
the  streets  all  day — but  late  in  the  afternoon 
Nanny  said, 

Jack,  if  Thomas  kills  me  for  it,  I must  lie 
down  — I believe  I shall  die.” 

The  boy  looked  at  his  sister,  — ■ her  pale  face 
frightened  him,  — where  could  they  go  ? What 
should  they  do  ? They  were  full  a mile  from 
the  house  where  Thomas  stopped,  and  how  could 
they  ever  walk  back  ? Even  while  they  were 
considering  what  they  should  do,  Nanny  was 
obliged  to  sit  upon  some  shop  steps  to  rest  — so 
it  was  out  the  question  that  they  should  attempt 
to  return  to  the  inn,  until  she  had  taken  some 
rest. 

Further  down  the  street,  at  a short  distance 
from  them,  Jack  saw  a stable,  and  the  door  was 
open.  Without  saying  a word,  he  left  Nanny, 


THE  LITTLE  STKEET  S IK  GEES.  113 

and  ran  down  to  see  if  it  was  occupied.  To  his 
great  joy  he  found  the  doors  wide  open,  nobody 
there,  and  the  manger  filled  with  nice  fresh 
straw. 

Jack  was  not  a strong  boy,  and  he  was  very 
weary  with  carrying  the  organ  all  day,  and  walk- 
ing about  so  far,  but  his  strength  seemed  to  come 
back  to  him  when  he  returned  and  looked  at 
iTanny,  where  she  sat  on  the  door  step,  so  faint 
and  pale.  Taking  his  organ,  which  he  had  left 
beside  her,  upon  his  back,  he  more  than  half 
carried  her  down  the  street  to  the  stable  — then 
he  climbed  up  into  the  manger,  and  drew  her 
after  him.  And  all  the  poor,  sick  child  could 
say  was,  Oh,  Jack  ! how  good  you  are  — don’t 
let’s  ever  go  back  to  Thomas.” 

And  the  boy  said  kindly,  I ’ll  make  it  all 
right  — don’t  worry  — take  a good  sleep,  and 
I ’ll  keep  watch  here.” 

And  Jack  sat  up  there  in  the  manger  beside 
his  sister,  and  the  monkey  sat  on  the  hand  or- 
gan, and  Nanny’s  tambourine  lay  on  the  floor  be- 
8 


114  THE  LITTLE  STEEET  SINGERS. 

side  it,  and  it  was  as  still  in  the  stable  as  if 
there  had  n’t  been  a creature  in  it. 

Jack  sat  there  with  his  eyes  half  closed,  but 
he  was  wide  awake  — he  had  so  many  things  on 
his  mind,  how  could  he  think  of  sleeping  ? 

A fine  scolding  they  would  get  when  they 
went  back  to  Thomas  — that  was  very  certain  ; 
but  who  cared  ? What  if  he  gave  them  a beat- 
ing?— even  that  would’ nt  kill  them  — it  was 
what  they  often  had  to  bear.  Yet,  no ! If 
Thomas  attempted  to  beat  Nanny  now,  he 
would  meet  with  some  opposition.  As  for  him- 
self, Jack  had  no  fear;  he  rather  liked  the 
thought  of  living  with  the  man  until  he  might 
some  day  find  an  opportunity  for  punishing  their 
tyrant  in  a suitable  way.  It  would,  besides,  be 
very  stupid  in  them  to  attempt  to  fiy  from  him ; 
for  Thomas  knew  everything,  and  would  be 
sure  to  find  them  again,  and  then  — Jack  trem- 
bled to  think  of  such  a fiight,  and  such  a 
capture ! 

As  to  Nanny — the  moment  she  lay  down  there 


THE  LITTLE  STKEET  SINGERB.  115 

in  the  manger  her  eyes  closed — she  fell  into  a 
heavy  sleep.  And  so  anxious  was  Jack  that  she 
should  have  a good  rest,  that  though  it  began  to 
get  dark  in  the  stable,  he  was  very  careful  to 
make  no  noise, lest  he  should  waken  her. 

But  at  last  Nanny  stirred  — she  was  awaking 
— she  whisj)ered,  Jack?” 

Here  I am,”  he  answered. 

Is  that  Thomas  I hear  ? ” 

No  — it  is  nothing.” 

Is  n’t  it?  Oh  Jack!  I’ve  seen  the  most 
beautiful  sight ! ” 

What  was  it  ? ” said  Jack. 

“Come  closer  — are  you  there?  I can’t  see 
you.” 

“ No  wonder,  for  it ’s  as  dark  as  pitch  here. 
But  I’ll  tell  you  what  we’ll  do — ^ wait  till  we 
get  started,  for  we  had  better  be  oS ; and  then 
I ’ll  have  you  tell  all  about  it.  Come ! you  have 
had  such  a nice  rest.  How  is  your  head  ? ” 

Nanny  never  disputed  with  Jack.  He  always 
had  things  in  his  own  way,  so  far  as  she  was 


116  THE  LITTLE  STliEET  S I N E li  S . 

concerned,  for  lie  was  always  contriving  things 
to  say  and  do  for  lier  that  would  make  her  hap- 
pier, and  more  comfortable.  So  she  lifted  her 
head,  and  tried  to  rise,  as  he  bade  her,  but  she 
could  not  do  it.  Jack  did  not  observe  the  effort 
she  was  making ; he  was  busy  getting  his  organ 
strapped  upon  his  back. 

I ’ll  tell  you  what  it  was  that  I dreamed 
here;  I’d  rather  tell  it  now,  before  I forget  it, 
my  head  feels  so  badly.  It  was  all  about  a 

beautiful  home  that  I went  to ” 

“But,”  said  Jack,  interrupting  her,  “ I hear 
them  coming.  They  are  leading  a horse,  and 
there ’s  a man  with  a lantern.  Slip  down,  and 
don’t  make  a noise.  ' I guess  we  can  creep  out 
without  their  seeing  ; come  ! ” 

lllanny  made  no  noise,  but  neither  did  she  oth- 
erwise obey  him ; and  when  in  a moment  more 
the  man  came  in  with  the  horse,  he  found  a little 
dead  child  lying  in  the  manger.  Nanny  had 
gone  away  to  the  beautiful  home  sooner  than 
Jack  could  think ! 


THE  LITTLE  STREET  SINGERS.  117 

And  there  stood  the  poor  fellow,  with  the  organ 
on  his  back,  and  the  monkey  perched  upon  the 
top  of  it,  and  under  Jack’s  arm  was  Nanny’s  tam- 
bourine. He  was  ready  to  go  on  his  journey,  but 
her  journey  was  at  an  end — she  would  never  sing 
“ Home ! sweet  Home ! ” with  him  again,  either 
in  rain-storm  or  sunshine.  Happy  Nanny;  the 
golden  doors  of  the  Father’s  house  had  opened  for 
the  weary  little  child,  and  never  more  would  she 
live  in  fear  of  Thomas ; never  more  would  she  go 
hungry  and  cold  and  sad,  for  now  she  was  with  the 
angels,  and  safe  from  all  sorrow  in  the  smile  of 
God. 


IIEEE  they  lay  on- the  beach 
together — the  same  sandy  bed 
beneath  them — the  same  sun 
shining  down  npon  them ; and 
they  both  had  come  up  from  the  same  great 
ocean  cave. 

Yet  they  were  not  at  all  alike,  as  one  with 
only  half  an  eye  conld  not  help  seeing.  And, 
as  to  their  ideas  of  things,  and  their  own  partic- 
ular feelings,  it  was  a fact  that  they  were  not  in 
the  least  bit  alike  in  these.  Excepting  in  this 
one  thing — they  were  both  exceedingly  desirous 
of  changing  their  place  of  residence ; and  it  was 
this  wish  that  was  granted  them  — for  they  had 
lived  in  the  sea,  and  now  were  to  live  on  the 
land,  which  certainly  was  a great  change  for 
both  of  them. 

The  Pink  Shell  was  marvellously  pretty,  and 
she  knew  it.  And  there  was  nothing  strange 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  119 

about  that;  but  then,  do  you  think  the  Shell 
showed  her  wisdom  in  being  so  very  vain  and 
proud  about  it?  Wliy,  only  think  of  it, — she 
did  not  make  herself, — she  lay  upon  the  beach 
just  as  she  was  thrown  up  out  of  the  deep,  deep 
sea ; and  for  all  that  she  had  to. do  with  it,  she 
might  just  as  well  have  been  a clam-shell,  as  that 
beautiful  pink  thing  which  the  Sea  Weed  look- 
ed at  with  so  much  admiration.  And  therefore 
I say  that  if  it  was  not  a sin,  it  was  at  least  a 
great  shame,  for  the  Shell  to  be  so  vain  of  her 
beauty. 

They  had  been  thrown  by  the  same  wave  up- 
on the  sea  beach — the  Shell  and  the  Weed  — 
and  the  Shell,  much  to  her  horror,  lodged  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  Weed  ! Oh  how  she  sighed 
for  some  lucky  gale  of  fortune  that  would  set 
her  clear  of  the  loathsome  heap.  Loathsome ! 
yes,  that  was  the  yerj  word  she  used  in  her 
complaint. 

The  Sea  Weed  was  not  naturally  jealous  or 
suspicious.  She  could  admire  the  beauty  of  the 


120  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

Shell,  and  not  feel  in  the  least  annoyed  that  she 
herself  had  but  little  loveliness  to  boast  of — 
that  she  was,  in  fact,  what  some  plain  spoken 
people  wonld  call  ngly.  But  nobody,  however 
homely  and  hnmble,  likes  to  be  called  loath- 
some. And  the  remark  did  not  sound  well, 
coming  from  the  Shell,  even  if  it  could-  be  ima- 
gined that  the  Weed  was  not  in  the  least  sensi- 
tive, and  had  no  feeling  whatever. 

The  Weed  could  not  well  help  it,  she  asked 
rather  timidly,  yet  with  perfect  distinctness  — 
Did  you  say  loathsome  ? ’’ 

“ Disgustful ! ’’  exclaimed  the  Shell,  looking 
in  every  direction  except  at  the  Weed  that  hap- 
pened to  be  beneath  her. 

“You  said  disgustful,’’  repeated  the  Weed, 
not  so  timidly  as  before,  but  still  quite  meek  in 
her  manner  and  voice  — are  you  speaking  of 
me?  ” 

Insolence  ! ” was  all  the  reply. 

The  Sea  Weed  sighed,  and  for  a long  time 
thought  the  matter  over  quietly  to  herself ; final- 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  121 

Ij  the  Shell’s  mutterings  excited  a little  anger  in 
her,  and  she  said, 

It  seems  to  me  that  if  you  are  so  mightily 
uncomfortable.  Miss  Shell,  the  best  thing  you 
can  do  is  to  move  into  another  neighborhood. 
It  is  n’t  very  pleasant  to  bear  your  burden,  and 
be  compelled  to  listen  to  your  insulting  remarks. 
You  think  yourself  very  fine  and  beautiful  — 
I think  so  too  — but  for  all  that,  your  behavior 
is  neither  pretty  nor  agreeable.” 

“You  are  such  a fright!”  exclaimed  Miss 
Shell,  in  a rage. 

“ Well,  and  what  of  that,”  returned  the  Weed, 
very  coolly, — “ I am  as  I was  made,  and  it’ s 
nothing  to  you  whether  I ’m  handsome  or  ugly. 
Y ou  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  remove  yourself  to 
a place  where  I shall  be  out  of  your  sight. 
And  to  speak  the  plain  truth,  I heartily  wish 
you  would  do  so.” 

“ Whoever  heard  the  like  ? ” exclaimed  the 
Shell. 

“ I never  did,  for  one,”  answered  the  Weed, 


FINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

but  the  fault  is  all  your  own.  If  you  take  to 
calling  names,  you  may  as  well  expect  to  have 
an  answer.’’ 

Just  then  a man  went  by  oa  the  lonely  sea 
beacb  — he  was  speaking  aloud,  and  the  heaven, 
and  the  earth,  and  the  ocean,  the  Sea  Weed  and 
the  Shell,  heard  what  he  said:  Speech  is  great, 
but  silence  is  greater.” 

And  the  Sea  Weed  thought  to  herself.  That 
is  a wiser  and  a better  saying  than  the  one  1 
thought  so  good  — it  is  n’t  worth  while  to  an- 
swer a fool  according  to  his  folly,  after  all  — 
and  I won’t  say  another  word  to  the  Shell, 
no  matter  how  she  provokes  me. 

• And  the  Sea  Weed  held  to  her  resolution ; — 
wishing,  in  the  meantime,  as  heartily  as  the  Pink 
Shell  could,  for  the  lucky  gale  of  fortune  that 
should  separate  them;  for  though  she  could 
keep  silent  herself,  it  was  not  so  very  agreeable 
to  be  compelled  to  hear  Miss  Shell’s  continual 
complaining.  For  of  her  complaining  there 
really  was  no  end  — it  seemed  to  be  the  only 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  123 


thing  of  which  the  proud  Sea  Shell  was  capable. 
She  had  no  idea  that  it  was  possible  for  her  to 
make  any  use  of  this  trial  of  her  patience  — it 
was  only  groan,  groan,  groan ; grumble,  grum- 
ble, grumble;  wish,  wish,  wish, — from  morn- 
ing till  night. 

Well,  that  lucky  gale  of  fortune  did  come  at 
last,  though  in  a way  that  rather  mortified 
Miss  Shell ; for  it  was  not  at  all  on  her  account 
that  the  people  walking  along  the  beach  ex- 
claimed so  joyfully,  as  if  they  had  found  a great 
prize,  when  they  saw  the  Sea  Weed.  It  was 
not  on  her  account  that  they  placed  the  Sea 
Weed  in  a basket,  and  carried  it  far  away  to  a 
place  where  the  roar  of  the  ocean  waves  was 
never  heard.  No — for  they  did  not  see  the 
Shell  at  all. 

You  think,  then,  that  she  was  left  upon  the 
beach  alone  — that  she  slipped  through  the  mass 
of  Weed,  and  was  left  there  all  by  herself. 
That  was  not  the  way  it  happened. 

For,  in  the  first  place,  instead  of  rejoicing  in 


124:  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

the  change  of  place  so  long  desired,  the  poor 
thing  thought  that  she  was  certainly  doomed  to  a 
violent  death,  thrust  down  as  she  was  into  dark- 
ness, and  surrounded  on  all  sides,  and  nearly 
suffocated  by  the  loathsome  Sea  Weed  that  was 
above  and  beneath  her.  No  more  fair  prospect 
of  sea,  and  shore,  and  sky ; not  a breath  of  fresh 
air  to  sweep  away  the  stifling  odor.  ^^Dsgust- 
ing,”  loathsome,”  insolent.”  She  might  say 
that  as  often  as  she  chose,  but  there  was  not 
much  comfort  in  expressing  herself  thus  when 
she  was  really  so  very  miserable  — so  nearly  de- 
stroyed. That  was  certainly  no  place  for  show- 
ing off  her  pride,  or  for  parading  her  beauty. 

At  last  the  Shell  began  to  arouse  herself,  and 
to  make  desperate  efforts.  Must  there  not  be 
some  way  of  escape  ? — and  if  there  were,  could 
she  not  And  it?  Yes,  to  her  delight  she  found 
that  she  could  move  through  her  prison  house  — 
and  though  it  was  always  down  that  she  went, 
at  every  step,  and  never  up  towards  the  light, 
the  Shell  did  not  think  of  that,  but  continued  to^ 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  125 


descend,  and  was  glad  to  do  so  — and  at  last  she 
reached  a wooden  barrier.  It  was  the  frame 
work  of  the  basket.  How  lucky  ’’  that  was, 
she  thought  — as  if  there  were  really  any  such 
thing  as  luck  ’’  in  the  world ! — and  then,  what 
was  best  of  all,  she  thought,  a short  time  after 
the  basket  was  lifted  and  carried  away,  and  the 
Shell  fell  upon  the  ground,  and  nobody  noticed 
it  in  the  least.  Here  for  a long  time  she  rested, 
and  owing  to  the  exertions  she  had  made.  Miss 
Shell  was  quite  content  to  rest  here.  But  af- 
ter a while  the  old  restless  spirit  began  to  make 
itself  heard  again ; and,  oh ! if  she  were  only 
back  on  the  beach  ! — or,  oh ! if  she  could  only 
go  once  more  down  into  the  ocean  cave  ! — or, 
indeed,  anywhere,  anywhere  in  the  wide  world 
than  just  where  she  happened  to  be.  But,  the 
Shell  might  turn  herself  about,  and  she  might 
move  in  this  direction,  and  in  that  direction,  and 
groan  and  sigh  ; she  had  gone  just  as  far  as  she 
could  go,  unless  in  some  way  she  was  aided  by 
somebody  more  powerful  than  herself.  And  as 


126  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

miglit  be  supposed,  the  Shell  became  very  lone- 
ly in  her  new  situation  — all  was  so  strange  there 
in  the  wood  — all  was  so  dim  and  solemn  there. 

One  day  she  was  roused  from  a slumber  at 
noonday,  by  the  sound  of  a person'  walking  in 
the  wood.  It  was  a youth  who  wandered  about 
with  his  head  bent  on  his  breast,  lost  in  thought. 
But  they  were  not  gloomy  thoughts  he  had  — 
they  were  all  about  a friend  whom  he  loved 
very  dearly;  and  he  had  just  been  telling  her 
how  much  he  loved  her,  and  had  made  the  dis- 
covery that  she  loved  him  also.  So  that  this 
was  the  very  happiest  day  of  the  young  fellow’s 
life. 

Nothing  of  this  knew  the  Pink  Shell,  and  she 
said  to  herself — If  he  sees  me  my  fortune  is 
made,  for  he  has  a pair  of  bright  eyes  in  his 
head,  and  that ’s  more  than  I can  say  for  any- 
thing else  I Ve  seen  in  this  dismal  place.” 

While  the  youth  walked  along  with  his  head 
bent  thus,  he  was  looking  for  some  place  where 
he  might  sit  down  and  reflect;  at  last  he  come 


PINK  SHELL  ANH  SEA  WEED.  127 

close  to  the  mossy  bank  where  the  Shell  was, 
and  there  he  sat  down  and  indulged  in  the  most 
delightful  meditations. 

Selfish ! ’’  murmured  the  Shell;  “ he  thinks 
of  nobody  in  the  world  but  himself — why  can’t 
he  see  that  I am  here,  and  half  dead  to  get 
away.  I am  sure  I would  not  in  the  least 
trouble  him ! ” 

It  seemed  as  if  the  young  man  must  have 
heard  her  complaint,  for  no  sooner  was  it  ended, 
than  he  arose  quickly,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  very  place  where  she  was  lying. 

Good  luck ! ” exclaimed  the  Shell ; and  a 
brighter  blush  seemed  to  overspread  her  hand- 
some face. 

And  when  the  youth  stooped  and  lifted  her, 
looking  so  pleasant  and  so  glad,  she  thought  it 
was  a great  wonder  that  she  did  not  swoon  with 
delight.  But  she  kept  her  senses  through  it  all. 

As  to  the  youth  himself,  he  thought  it  was  a 
most  fortunate  thing  that  he  had  come  into  the 
wood  that  day.  He  had  found  such  a nice  gift 


128  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

for  his  friend  — and  he  made  a little  plan  in  his 
mind  about  the  Shell,  which  he  kept  do  himself. 

The  next  day  Miss  Shell  found  herself  in  a ve- 
ry odd  sort  of  place ; — the  handsome  youth  with 
whom  she  had  hoped  to  remain,  had  some  queer 
project  in  his  head  that  concerned  her;  what 
could  it  be  ? Why  had  he  left  her  in  that  disa- 
greeable garret,  in  the  hands  of  that  dirty  work- 
man, who  coughed  so  much,  and  looked  so  pale 
and  so  distressed? — what  would  he  do  with 
her  ? The  young  man  had  given  this  person  a 
great  many  directions,  but  of  these  she  could 
not  understand  a word.  They  were  both  kind- 
hearted  looking  men  — she  did  not  believe  that 
they  meant  to  destroy  her.  But  then  why  was 
she  there  ? — and  of  what  use  were  all  those 
bright,  sharp  tools  which  lay  on  the  workman’s 
table  ? Miss  Shell  trembled  as  she  asked  her- 
self that  question. 

Oh  for  the  sea  side  ! — if  she  could  only  find 
herself  back  on  the  beach ! — surely,  that  was 
the  best  of  all  places  for  a residence ; and  bet- 


PINK  S H E L L A N J ) SEA  WEED. 

ter  and  pleasanter  it  seemed,  as  day  after  day 
went  on,  and  still  she  remained  in  the  dingy  city 
workshop,  watching  that  distressed,  pale,  weary 
looking  man  at  his  labor,  and  listening  to  the 
noises  of  the  crowded  streets. 

The  Shell  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  think  — 
but  no  one  seemed  to  think  of  her  — not  even 
the  workman  to  whom  the  handsome  youth  gave 
so  many  directions. 

But  soon  she  had  occasion  to  think  another 
thought,  and  wish  another  wish  — the  poor, 
proud  Shell ! She  had  fancied  herself  so  hand- 
some, so  perfect  ! — and  the  artist  did  not 
agree  with  her;  that  is,  if  one  might  judge  of 
his  thoughts  by  his  deeds.  Certainly  — yes  ; it 
was  his  intention  to  destroy  her ! And  the  Shell 
gave  herself  up  for  lost,  and  fainted  away  with 
fright,  and  the  last  thing  she  thought  was, — 
After  all,  I must  have  abused  the  poor  Sea 
Weed  — I hope  she  has  forgotten  all  about  it.” 

Often  the  young  man  went  to  the  artist’s  work- 
room. He  watched  the  progress  of  the  work 
9 


130  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED, 

he  had  ordered  to  be  done,  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest — but  Miss  Shell,  during  this  time,  until 
the  work  was  finished,  remained  unconscious  of 
all  that  was  going  on. 

When  she  awakened  at  last,  all  was  darkness 
around  her.  She  heard  voices,  but  nothing  could 
she  see,  and  the  Shell  groaned  inwardly,  and 
said,  Alas ! I am  become  stone  blind ! that 
must  account  for  it  — the  vile  workman  put  out 
my  eyes,  and  then  I fainted.’’  It  was  a poor 
consolation,  that  thought ! 

She  listened  earnestly,  and  then  she  spoke 
again  to  herself,  and  said,  Aha  ! if  my  eyes 
are  gone  my  ears  are  opened,”  — and  certainly 
her  ears  were  opened,  or  some  other  strange 
thing  had  happened,  for  the  shell  could  now  un- 
derstand what  was  said  between  the  youth  and 
the  artist.  She  knew  it  was  these  two  that 
talked  together,  because,  though  she  could  not 
see  them  she  recognized  the  Amices. 

“ How  much  do  I owe  you  ? ” asked  the  young 
man. 

0^ 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  131 


^^Well — ^let  me  see  : it  is  very  fine  work  the 
gentleman  will  observe.’’ 

“ Yes,”  was  the  reply. 

^‘It  tried  my  eyes  sorely  to  cut  so  fine  a 
flower,  and  the  dove  hovering  over  the  flower,  I 
never  did  so  nice  a piece  of  work  as  that  before.” 

^^Yes  — it’s  exqnisite,”  said  the  young  man 
with  great  admiration,  evidently. 

“It  was  diflicult  to  cut  the  cameo,”  — (how 
Miss  Shell  shuddered  as  she  heard  that  — ^ That 
means  me — it  must  mean  me,  and  I ’ve  been  cut 
up  with  those  sharp  steel  instruments ! ’ she  said 
to  herself  with  a groan,)  “ for  you  see,”  resumed 
the  man,  stopping  to  cough  after  every  word, 
“ one  false  mark  might  easily  have  ruined  the 
whole  thing.” 

“Yes,  yes  — I see,”  said  the  youth,  with  a 
little  impatience,  “ but  let  me  know  your  charge, 
my  good  fellow,  I ’m  in  a hurry.” 

“ Ten  dollars.” 

The  young  man  said  no  more,  but  the  shell  heard 
him  counting,  “Three — ^five — eight — ten” — and 


132  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

then  he  said,  Is  that  right  ? ’’  and  the  artist 
answered,  ^^Yes  — all  right  — thank  you,  sir; — • 
but — would  you  please,  sir,  to  let  me  look  again 
at  the  cameo,  for  a moment?— thank  you.” 

Ho — the  Shell  was  certainly  not  blind, — 
there  was  now  light  all  around  her  in  a mo- 
ment, and  she  saw  it,  and  when  to  her  amaze^ 
ment  she  looked  up  into  the  face  of  tlie  artist, 
she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears  — and  he 
said — Well,  if  it  is  my  work  I Ve  never  seen 
any  handsomer.” 

‘‘  And  to  think,”  said  the  young  man,  “ a month 
ago  it  was  only  a pretty  shell  lying  in  the  wood, 
of  no  use  to  anybody.  You  and  I have  proved 
that  it  was  good  for  something,  Mr.  Artist.” 

And  they  laughed  ; — the  shell  did  not  laugh 
however  — she  was  greatly  indignant  that  they 
should  have  dared  to  speak  of  her  in  such  a 
manner.  But  what  strange  thing  was  it  that 
had  I ppened  to  her?  What  had  the  artist 
done?  Oh,  if  she  could  but  see  herself;  she 
was  not  blind  — that  she  knew — yet  it  was  very 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  V;"  E E D . 133 

odd  she  cohM  not  see  as  she  used  to  do.  She 
could  see  everything  but  that  she  most  longed 
to  see — which  was,  of  course,  herself! 

A moment  after  the  strange  darkness  ao;ain 
was  over  and  around  her,  • — that  is  to  say,  the 
Shell-cameo  was  shut  iip  again  in  a box,  and 
the  youth  carried  it  away  vfith  him.  Down  the 
stairs  he  went,  out  into  the  crowded  street,  and 
then  there  was  a long,  long  way,  walked  very 
rapidly  ; — then  up  a flight  of  steps ; a careful 
opening  of  a door;  through  a long  passage  way ; 
iip  another  pair  of  stairs  — then  another  door 
was  opened  — and  the  Shell  found  herself  no 
longer  in  darkness  — but  when  she  looked  around 
she  saw  that  she  was  alone ; the  young  man  had 
left  her  there  alone. 

She  was  lying  on  a white  marble  slab  that  was 
underneath  a large  and  splendid  mirror,  and 
around  her  were  a multitude  of  shining,  beauti- 
ful things,  whose  use  she  could  not  guess,  vhose 
like  she  had  never  seen  before. 

The  Shell-cameo  felt  the  most  strange  sen- 


134  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

sation  wlien  she  thought  of  herself  there  alone 
in  that  chamber ; she  had  never  thought  the 
same  thoughts,  or  felt  the  same  feelings  as  now. 
Though  it  had  never  entered  her  head  to  dream 
of  an  apartment  so  beautiful,  though  everything 
around  her  was  so  strange,  so  different  from  all 
she  had  ever  seen  before,  still  she  could  not  help 
thinking,  I am  not  alone  here  — some  friend  or 
some  acquaintance  I have  known  in  days  past  is 
certainly  near  me.’’  But  as  she  looked  at  the 
lace  window  curtains,  and  bed  curtains,  and  the 
handsome  carpet ; on  the  pictures,  and  the  orna- 
ments in  the  room,  and  fatigued  herself  with 
wondering,  she  could  not  arrive  at  any  conclu- 
sion as  to  what  it  could  mean  that  she  should 
have  such  thoughts  and  feelings,  for  as  I said, 
never  had  she  had  the  like  before. 

That  same  day,  in  the  afternoon,  a little  lady 
came  singing  into  the  chamber:  — a young  girl 
who  certainly  had  just  heard  of,  or  done,  some 
pleasant  thing,  for  her  face  was  lovely  with  the 
happy  smile  it  wore 


FINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  135 


She  walked  about  the  room,  and  looked  from 
the  windows,  and  sang  like  a bird  — but  it  was 
n long  while,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  the  Shell, 
before  she  went  up  to  the  mirror  and  saw  the 
cameo  lying  there. 

Now,’’  said  the  Shell,  my  time  has  come 
at  last.” 

And  certainly  it  had,  for  the  little  lady  took 
the  cameo,  and  ran  with  it  to  the  window,  and 
then  back  again  to  the  mirror,  and  all  she  said 
was,  Albert ! ” 

^^Ah!”  said  the  Shell,  with  a jealous  sigh, 
she  thinks  more  of  the  giver  than  she  does  of 
the  gift,  after  all ; but  I ’m  sure  of  one  thing,  I 
shall  now  see  what  strange  thing  it  is  that  has 
happened  to  me.” 

And  as  the  little  lady  fastened  the  cameo  upon 
her  bosom,  the  Shell  gazed  upon  herself,  and 
said  with  rapture,  Ah,  if  the  Sea  Weed  could 
only  see  me  now,  what  would  she  say?  ” 

But  when  she  said  it,  a pang  shot  through  her 
heart,  and  the  vain  Shell  fairly  blushed  — why  ? 


136  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

because  at  that  very  instant  it  seemed  to  her 
that  something  whispered, 

^^Be  careful,  Miss  Shell,  what  you  say  or 
think  about  the  Sea  Weed  — be  careful,  be 
careful ! ’’ 

But  when  the  Shell  thought  this  all  over,  she 
was  again  very  indignant  because  of  the  Sea 
Weed,  and  she  said  to  herself  more  proudly 
than  ever,  I would  exceedingly  like  to  have 
that  Weed  here  to  see  me  now  ; she  would  per 
ceive  that  I had  found  my  proper  place  at  last.” 

That  may  be,”  something  whispered  — and 
the  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the  mirror  — 
that  may  be,  but  be  careful.  Miss  Shell,  what 
you  say  about  the  Sea  Weed,  just  be  careful,  if 
you  please.” 

This  was  all  very  strange  — what  could  it 
mean  ? Miss  Shell  was  as  much  in  the  dark  as 
when  she  fancied  herself  blind  because  shut  up 
in  the  box. 

I will  tell  you  what  it  meant.  As  to  the  Shell, 
she  found  it  all  out  soon  enough. 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED.  137 

That  same  afternoon,  a little  girl,  much 
younger  than  the  little  lady  who  wore  the  cam- 
eo that  her  friend  Albert  had  given  her,  came 
into  the  beautiful  chamber. 

Sister,”  she  said,  hurrying  up  to  the  little 
lady  — 

Well,”  was  the  answer  she  got. 

‘AVhat  is  kelp  ? ” 

“ Kelp  ? why,  it  is  sea  weed  burned.” 

The  cameo  gave  a start  of  surprise,  and  lis- 
tened eagerly  to  hear  what  should  come  next. 

And  so  the  sea  weed,  such  as  we  gathered 
last  summer,  goes  to  make  glass  like  that  mir- 
ror,” pointing  to  the  one  before  her. 

Yes,  that  is  very  true,”  said  the  little  lady, 
"^and  this  cameo,  Lily,  look  at  it  — Albert 
gave  it  to  me ; it  is  made  of  a shell.  So  you 
see  the  ocean  gives  us  a great  many  curious  and 
beautiful  things  ! ” 

The  poor  Pink  Shell ! she  gave  a sort  of  groan, 
but  no  words  could  express  her  mortification 
and  surprise  at  that  moment.  Very  well  she 


138  PINK  SHELL  ANl)  SEA  WEED. 

knew  why  it  was  that  she  felt  that  she  was  near 
an  old  acquaintance,  when  Albert  left  her  on 
the  marble  slab  underneath  the  splendid  mirror. 

‘No  sleep  for  her  that  night,  when  she  lay  on 
the  slab  once  more,  after  the  little  lady  had  gone 
into  her  bed.  But  there  she  was,  awake  through 
all  the  long,  dark  hours  ; so  wretched,  so  miser- 
able— no  one  can  tell  how  miserable,  who  has 
not  been  kept  awake  thinking  of  some  duty  he 
is  too  proud  to  perform. 

But  at  last  there  came  at  midnight  a voice 
■^fom  out  the  mirror,  and  it  said, 

Pink  Shell ! ’’ 

What  ? she  answered. 

Do  you  know  me  now  ? ” 

^‘Yes.’’ 

What  am  I ? 

Sea  Weed.’’ 

Yes,  that ’s  very  true — well,  what  do  you 
think  of  me  now^  Pink  Shell  ? ” 

I ’m  not  thinking  of  you  at  all.” 

That’s  honest  — I see  you  ’re  not  so  very 

5 


PINK  SHELL  AND  SEAWEED.  139 

much  changed  after  all ; though  I hardly  rec- 
ognized you  when  you  came  in.” 

Sea  Weed,  if  I’m  not  changed,  you  aveP  - 

“ Yes,  I know  it ; I ’m  of  some  use  and  im- 
portance now  — besides,  I have  passed  through 
so  many  transformations,  I hardly  know  myself.” 

They  have  made  you  proud.” 

Don’t  say  that ! don’t  say  that  if  you 
please.  I ’m  of  some  use,  and  for  that  I ’m 
thankful  — thankful,  do  you  hear  ? — not  proud. 
I hope  I ’m  not  so  foolish.  As  I believe  I told 
you  long  ago,  when  I was  nothing  but  an  ugly 
weed,  according  to  your  way  of  thinking,  I ’ve 
had  nothing  to  do  with  making  myself,  so  why 
should  I be  proud  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Sea  Weed,”  began  Miss  Shell,  but  there 
she  stopped. 

Well,”  said  the  voice  from  the  mirror,  speak- 
ing very  gently,  for  the  Shell  seemed  to  be  in 
great  distress. 

^^Sea  Weed,”  she  began  again  after  a long  si- 
lence, I hope  you  ’ll  forget  all  those  silly  things 


140  PINK  SHELL  AND  SEA  WEED. 

I used  to  say.  I’ve  been  so  impatient,  and  so 
proud  — dear  me  — I’ve  been  a great  fool  — 
but ” 

“ Say  no  more,  my  beautiful ” 

“ Don’t  call  me  beautiful.” 

“ What  shall  I call  you?  ” 

“ Say  — Sister,  I forgive  you,”  said  Cameo,  af- 
ter a long,  long  pause. 

“ Sister,  I have  forgotten  all  about  it,”  said 
the  mirror,  and  they  never  had  a quarrel  after 
that  day,  you  may  be  certain. 


fittk 


TIETHEE  there  was  anything 
at  all  in  it — or  if  it  meant  any- 
thing— that  I cannot  say;  you 
must  be  the  judge. 


But  this  was  what  happened,  all  in  the  same 
moment,  with  some  people  who  lived  together 
in  a house  on  Grand  street.  Yes  — Grand  street 
they  called  it  — but  Fm  sure  I don’t  know  why. 
They  lived  in  the  same  house,  but  they  had 
very  little  to  do  with  each  other  ; for  they  were 
lodgers,  and  rented  the  rooms,  all  except  Mar- 
garet, who  slept  in  a narrow  passage-way  in  the 
basement,  for  she  was  the  servant,  and  the  house 
was  so  crowded  that  there  was  no  other  place 
where  she  could  put  herself  away,  out  of  sight, 

when  night  came. 

^ * 

In  the  upper  story  of  the  house,  that  is  to  say 
in  the  attic,  lived  a widow  lady  and  her  child, 


142  LITTLE  Alice’s  peayek. 

a little  girl  not  yet  six  years  old.  Directly  un- 
der the  skylight  was  a large  rose  bnsh,  full  of 
buds  and  blossoms  — and  it  was  as  old,  and 
older  than  Alice,  the  widow’s  child ; for  on  the 
day  that  she  was  born  her  father  brought  it 
home,  and  at  that  time  there  was  one  rose — but 
one  — upon  the  fragile  stem. 

How  it  had  grown  since  that  day ! It  was  now 
a splendid  rose  bush  — almost  as  tall  as  Alice  her- 
self. And  next  to  her  child,  the  poor  widow  loved 
the  rose  better  than  all  things  in  the  world. 

In  the  day-time  it  was  very  pleasant  up  there 
in  the  attic,  but  at  night!  — oh,  it  was  gloomy 
then ; for,  after  Alice  was  asleep,  the  widow  was 
alone,  and  there  was  nothing  to  amuse  her  — and 
even  if  there  had  been  she  could  not  have  stop- 
ped to  enjoy  it;  for  she  was  working  day  and 
night,  trying  to  lay  by  money  enough  to  educate 
her  child,  as  many  another  loving  mother  has 
done* 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  seven,  that  night 
when  the  strange  thing  happened,  Alice  knelt 


LITTLE  ALICEAS  PEAYEE.  143 

down  beside  tbe  little  table  on  wbicli  stood  the 
rose  bush,  and  said  aloud  the  Lord’s  prayer,  and 
after  that  she  continued  to  kneel  and  to  pray  for 
a moment  in  silence,  as  she  always  did,  asking 
God  for  whatever  thing  she  most  desired. 

And  what  it  was  she  asked  for  I do  not  know, 
but  it  was  very  strange — in  the  same  moment 
that  she  asked  it,  a blessing  seemed  to  have  fal- 
len on  all  the  hearts  that  did  most  need  it  in  the 
house. 

There  was  Margaret  in  the  basement,  with 
work  to  do  that  would  keep  her  busy,  tired  as 
she  already  was,  until  late  at  night ; — she  had 
just  been  giving  relief  to  her  heavy  heart,  and 
the  tears  she  shed  were  bitter.  Why  should  she 
labor  so  like  a slave,  doing  her  best  to  please  all, 
and  never  receive  in  return  gentle  words,  and 
pleasant  smiles  ? Her  heart  cried  out  for  the 
old  friends  in  fatherland  — but  they  did  not  an- 
swer her.  She  was  alone  ; and  oh,  so  lonely  ! 
Weveyoic  ever  alone,  and  lonely?  Then  you 
will  know  how  to  pity  her. 


144  LITTLE  Alice’s  pkayer. 

The  clock  struck  seven.  Margaret  looked  up  ; 
the  old  dim  lamp  seemed  to  burn  more  faintly 
than  ever  — and  there  was  the  great  heap  of 
work  yet  to  do  — what  right  had  she  to  be  sit- 
ting there  in  the  basement,  weeping,  making 
such  a waste  of  the  time  ? 

She  sprung  from  her  chair,  and  suddenly,  as  if 
some  spring  had  been  touched  in  her  sad  heart, 
Margaret  began  to  sing.  With  a faltering  voice 
at  first,  for  she  had  wept  so  violently  that  she 
could  not  control  the  voice.  Her  own  singing 
made  her  smile.  Beautiful  music  that,  to  be 
sure,”  said  she,  and  stopping  short,  she  began 
the  verse  again.  And  this  time  how  bravely 
she  sang  it ; with  a low,  but  firm,  sweet  voice, 
and  there  was  not  a break  in  it  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  the  song ; — four  verses,  — 
she  sang  them  all. 

All  this  time  she  was  not  standing  still  with 
folded  arms ; a wonderful  change  had  taken 
place  in  the  appearance  of  the  basement  since 
the  clock  struck  for  seven.  The  old  lamp  no 


L I T T I.  K A L I Cl'^  ’ S V K A Y E K . 


145 


longer  burned  dimly  ; it  blazed  like  a torch,  and, 
though  it  smoked  a little,  Margaret  had  drawn 
the  wick  up  so  high,  she  did  not  mind  that,  it 
looked  so  cheerful  there,  and  she  all  at  once  felt 
so  cheerful,  and  this  was  the  way  she  talked  to 
herself — 

Courage,  Margaret ! Courage,  old  heart ! 
there’s  a good  time  coming  — you  are  strong,  if 
you’re  not  made  of  iron,  and  God  rules  over 
all.”  And  while  she  talked  thus  to  herself  she 
thought  of  little  Alice  up  in  the  attic,  and  said, 
for  dearly  she  loved  the  child,  That  is  the  an- 
gel of  the  house,  and  it ’s  right  she  should  sleep 
away  up  there,  for  that  room,  of  all  in  the  house, 
is  nearest  to  heaven,  where  she  belongs.  And 
if  Alice  prayed  for  Margaret  I cannot  tell  — 
but  this  I know,  the  poor  Irish  girl  blessed 
Alice. 

Over  the  basement  was  the  drawing-room,  and 
it  was  very  brilliant  with  gas-lights  there. 

There  was  too  much  light  — not  for  the  room, 

for  that  looked  quite  splendid,  but  for  the  man 
10 


14-6  LITTLE  ALICEAS  PKAYER. 

in  it,  who  walked  to  and  fro  with  his  head  bent 
on  his  breast,  thinking  — thinking  — thinking. 

They  were  not  such  thoughts  as  he  would  like 
to  have  seen  written  out  upon  the  wall,  so  that 
all  who  happened  to  go  into  the  room  could  read 
them  if  they  chose.  He  was  wretched  with 
those  thoughts  ; they  made  his  heart  as  restless 
as  the  waves  of  the  sea  — they  haunted  him  in  his 
dreams  — and  when  he  was  awake,  as  now,  they 
tempted  him.  They  were  his  tormentors. 

They  were  having  a fierce  battle  with  them- 
selves this  night.  They  had  battled  thus  all  day, 
and  now  the  strife  was  nearly  at  an  end.  You 
see  him  — he  is  going  towards  the  door  — it  is 
too  light  for  him  there,  he  shades  his  eyes  with 
his  hands  — he  will  go  out  where  there  is  dark- 
ness. 

But  — why  does  he  stop  just  as  he  reaches  the 
door?  Why  does  he  fold  his  arms  upon  his 
breast,  and  lean  against  the  wall,  and  think 
again  ? Do  but  see  how  calm  his  face  is  grow- 
ing ! — he  does  not  need  to  shade  his  eyes  now  — 
D 


LITTLE  Alice’s  peayee.  147 

there  is  not  too  much  light  there  — he  looks  up. 
Again  he  ^alks  up  and  down  the  room  — the 
silver  clock  upon  the  mantle  is  striking  seyeiTo 
What  can  it  mean  ? What  can  it  mean  ? Why, 
he  is  delivered  from  his  temptation,  and  he  steps 
as  if  that  temptation  were  lying  like  a worm  in 
his  path,  and  he  crushing  it  under  his  feet.  He 
does  not  now  find  the  gas-light  too  clear  and 
searching. 

And  that  happened  while  the  clock  was  strh 
king  seven,  and  while  little  Alice  prayed ! I 
wonder  if  she  asked  a blessing  for  Mm  in  that 
prayer  ? 

In  the  room  above  there  was  a faint  but  clear 
and  steady  light  burning.  The  place  looked 
full  of  shadows,  except  just  about  the  table 
where  the  candle  stood. 

Here,  also,  was  a youth,  alone.  He  did  not 
look  like  the  man  who  walked  up  and  down  the 
brilliant  drawing  room  below.  His  papers  and 
books  were  before  him,  but  he  neither  wrote  nor 
read ; and  very  often  he  sighed,  and  said  a brief 


14:8  LITTLE  ALICEAS  PRAYEE. 

word  that  sounded  like  Alas ! ” — and  if 
he  really  did  not  say  the  word,  his*  face  look- 
ed it. 

He  was  contrasting  his  ' own  situation  with 
that  of  the  man  in  the  drawing-room, — for  that 
man  was  very  rich,  and  the  student  was  very 
poor.  The  rich  man  had  nothing  to  trouble  him, 
and  the  poor  man  had  — why,  he  thought  he 
had  as  much  as  a thousand  of  the  very  heaviest 
burdens  to  bear.  In  the  first  place  he  was 
alone, — nobody  cared  for  him  ; he  might  suc- 
ceed, or  he  might  fail  in  his  attempts, — who 
cared  whether  the  one  thing  happened  or  the 
other?  He  might  write,  and  write  — but  if -his 
book  was  never  finished,  who  would  think  it 
was  a great  pity,  and  a great  misfortune  to  the 
world  ? And  if  he  did  complete  it,  who  would 
print  it  ? Who  Avould  buy  it  if  it  happened  to 
be  printed  ? Where  could  he  look  for  his 
readers  ? 

If  it  was  too  light  for  the  thoughts  of  the  man 
who  was  thinking  in  the  drawing  room  below, 


LITTLE  Alice’s  prayer.  - 149 

it  certainly  was  not  too  dark  for  the  thoughts  of 
the  man  who  was  thinking  in  that  little  closet 
of  a room  above  ! 

He  could  not  tell  the  hour,  for  he  had  no 
watch,  and  there  was  no  clock  in  the  room  ; but 
the  student  knew  that  it  was  very  early  in 
the  evening.  There  were  a great  many  hours 
yet  before  he  could  think  of  sleep  — > and  so  he 
sat  and  indulged  still  longer  in  his  gloomy 
meditations. 

But  presently  a church  clock  in  the  next 
street  told  the  hour  of  seven.  The  bell  had  a 
soft,  mellow  sound.  The  student  loved  the 
sound, — he  always  laid  aside  his  pen  and  lis- 
tened, when  it  was  striking.  But  what  great 
change  was  that  coming  so  suddenly  over  the 
student  ? I wish  you  could  have  seen  it  — it 
was  so  curious.  How  his  eyes  flashed! — how 
the  desponding  face  became  bright  with  intelli- 
gence and  cheerfulness ! and  the  bent  figure 
straightened  itself  before  the  table.  The  folded 
hands  are  unclasped, — one  sweeps  over  the 


150  ^ LITTLE  ALICEAS  PRAYEE. 

white  forehead  and  pushes  away  the  mass  of 
disordered  hair,  the  other  seizes  the  pen  upon 
the  table.  The  student  has  a great  thought  in 
his  head ! 

He  goes  to  work  at  it, — it  opens  before  him 
like  a box  of  jewels, — it  brings  such  a mul- 
titude of  other  thoughts  with  it ! He  begins 
to  lay  them  rapidly  upon  the  paper.  What 
a rich  treasure ! — ■ and  they  are  all  his  own 
thoughts ! 

The  candle  burns  down  to  the  socket  before 
he  is  aware ; the  clock  strikes  twelve  before  he 
is  done  ; and  yet  he  is  not  weary  — and  a hap- 
pier man,  why,  I think  you  could  not  find  a 
happier  man  than  he  in  all  Grand  street  on  this 
night ! 

Now,  if  that  fortunate  thought,  which  so 
cheered  the  poor  student  that  he  went  to  bed 
thanking  God  who  sent  it  to  him,  was  the  an- 
swer to  the  prayer  of  little  Alice  up  in  the  attic 
when  the  clock  struck  seven,  that  I cannot  tell ; 
but  it  was  certainly  very  strange  that  all  these 


LITTLE  Alice’s  prayee.  161 

good  people  sliould  have  been  made  so  happy  at 
that  very  moment,  was  it  not  ? — and  for  my 
own  part,  I believe  that  the  prayer  of  a child  in 
the  house  is  a great  blessing. 


course  it  did  not  stand  in  any 
man’s  kitchen,  or'  cellar,  or 
yard,  for  it  was  the  Town  Pump, 
and  its  place  was  in  the  public 
street,  near  the  sidewalk.  What 
a grand  situation ! 

l^othing  could  happen  to  the  right  or  left,  up  or 
down  the  thoroughfare,  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  Pump ! It  could  not  see  the  sun  rise  — 
and  that,  to  be  sure,  was  a great  privation;  but 
from  ten  o’clock  till  sunset,  provided  there  were 
no  clouds  in  the  way,  the  Pump  might  gaze  on 
the  heavens,  and  behold  the  great  light  that 
lighteth  the  day.  Taking  all  things  into  consid- 
eration, a more  desirable  situation,  for  one  who 
was  to  serve  the  public,  could  not  be  imagined. 

One  moonlight  night  last  summer,  I was  sit- 
ting at  my  window  — the  blinds  were  wide 
open,  and  a very  refreshing  breeze  swept  through 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


153 


the  house.  It  had  rained  in  the  afternoon  : and 
you  know  how  delightful  it  is  in  the  evening 
after  a summer  shower  — especially  if  the  moon 
is  shining. 

I was  in  a very  idle  mood,  and  ready  to  think 
of  anything,  or  nothing,  just  as  the  case  might 
be.  Not  sleepy  at  all,  though  I had  worked 
hard  all  day  — so  you  must  not  say  that  what  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  about  was  only  a dream. 
You  may  be  perfectly  sure  that  my  eyes  were 
wide  open  all  the  while,  and  that  while  I con- 
versed with  the  Pump  I knew  what  I was 
about. 

Conversed  with  the  Pump?  Yes,  though  it  is 
quite  likely  you  never  heard  of  such  a thing 
before.  I never  did  either. 

And  I suppose  I should  not  have  thought  of 
doing  such  a thing,  but  for  the  little  girl  that 
came  from  a house  over  the  way,  with  a tin  pail 
in  her  hand ; and  I could  hear  what  she  said 
very  distinctly,  it  was  so  still  in  the  street.  She 
said. 


154 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


Old  Pump  ! I,  for  one,  shall  be  very  glad 
when  I see  the  last  you.’’ 

Her  words  reminded  me  of  what  I had  heard 
before,  but  I had  forgotten  it  again,  that  to-mor- 
row was  the  Pump’s  birth  day,  and  I said  to 
myself. 

He  must  be  wide  awake  if  he ’s  like  other 
folks.  Nobody  sleeps  very  soundly  the  night 
before  his  birth-day.  And  probably  he  is  think- 
ing of  all  that  has  happened  to  him,  and  to  other 
people,  in  the  course  of  his  life.  I ’ll  just  ask 
him  about  it.”  So  I said, 

“ Town  Pump  ! ” 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

This  annoyed  me  a little.  It  is  n’t  pleasant  to 
address  a person  and  get  no  answer ; and  though 
the  Town  Pump  was  not  a peeson,  still  it  was  a 
THING  — and  in  grammar  a thing  is  called  a noun 
as  well  as  a person  — and  is  quite  as  respectable. 

I reflected  a moment.  Perhaps  if  I came  out 
with  a question,  I might  be  answered  at  once. 
May  be,  after  all,  the  Pump  was  not  ceremoni- 


T II  E T O W N V U M . 


155 


0US5  and  was  vexed  that  I should  he,  and  there- 
fore would  not  take  the  trouble  when  I said 
“ Town  Pump/’  to  say,  ‘‘  What  do  you  want?  ” 
So  I exclaimed  — 

“ You  do  nothing  but  think.  Ton  can  see  all 
that  goes  on,  and  understand  why  people  do  thus 
and  so,  because  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
look.  You  don’t  get  mixed  up  with  other  folks  — 
and  confused,  and  distracted,  and  tired.” 

“Don’t  I?”  a voice,  harsh,  but  not  disagree- 
able, exclaimed.  That  was  all  it  said  — but  the 
words  meant  a great  deal.  I understood,  just 
as  well  as  if  the  voice  had  said  it  outright,  that 
the  Pump  did  get  confused,  distracted,  and 
tired ; and  that  I had  only  shown  how  little  I 
knew  about  it,  by  saying  that  it  did  n’t. 

I was  so  glad  to  get  an  answer  of  any  sort, 
that  I cared  not  at  all  what  shape  it  came  in. 

Perhaps  now,  thought  I,  if  I tell  the  Pump 
the  real  state  of  my  feelings,  I shall  get  a little 
pity.  So  I groaned  aloud, 

“ Oh.  if  I could  only  get  away  from  this 


156 


T HE  TO  Yl  N PUMP. 


place  ! I ’m  so  weary  doing  the  same  work  day 
after  day.  I want  to  see  new  faces,  and  see  new 
sights,  and  hear  new  voices,  and  do  some  other 
kind  of  work.’’ 

What  do  you  think  I heard  in  answer  to  my 
complaint  ? I was  very  indignant  at  first,  you 
may  he  sure.  To  think  — said  I to  myself,  in 
my  wrath  — to  think  of  an  old  Pumj)  talking  to 
me  as  if  I were  a beast ! — for  he  said. 

Where  wilt  thou  go.  Ox,  that  thou  wilt 

NOT  HAVE  TO  PLOUGH  ? ” 

But  after  I had  repeated  these  words  to  my- 
self several  times,  I thought  they  had  a familiar 
sound  ; and  at  length  I remembered  that  it  was 
an  old  Spanish  Proverb,  and  I began  to  have  a 
great  degree  of  respect  for  the  Pump,  — what  a 
learned  Pump  it  was,  to  be  sure  ! Then  I said 
quite  meekly,  for  my  anger  had  altogether  passed 
away,  because  I understood  that  the  Pump 
meant  to  say  that  there  is  not  a place  on  earth, 
and  that  God  never  made  such  a place,  where  a 
person  might  find  rest  who  was  not  willing  and 


T lltE  T O W N P U ISI  r . 


157 


glad  to  labor  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  had 
pleased  God  to  call  him,  I said  quite  meekly, 
I repeat. 

You  are  exceedingly  wise,  Mr.  Pump  — can 
you  tell  fortunes  ? ” 

Every  day  in  thy  life  is  a leaf  in  thy  ms- 
TORY,”  he  replied. 

This  was  a proverb  of  the  Arabs,  I knew.  I 
had  heard  it  often  enough  ; and  when  the  Pump 
repeated  it,  I felt  that  it  only  was  a polite  way 
of  saying  to  me  — You  will  know  your  fortune 
fast  enough  : be  wise,  and  ask  no  questions  — 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  live  each  day 
well.” 

I merely  thought,”  said  I,  that  as  you  had 
seen  the  fortune  of  so  many  people  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  and,  that  as  I must  be  like  unto 
some  of  them,  for  I don’t  flatter  myself  that  I ’m 
unlike  every  other  person,  you  might  very  like- 
ly be  able  to  tell  me  my  fortune.  You  must 
have  a store  of  precious  recollections,  Mr.  Pump.” 

The  Pump  made  no  answer. 


158  THE  TOWN  PUjUP. 

Could  I not  hit  upon  some  way  of  compelling 
him  to  talk  about  what  he  had  seen  and  heard? 
At  least  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  silence  on 
my  part.  If  the  Pump  was  a gossip  he  must 
be  drawn  out.  Talk  of  his  own  accord  he  would 
not.  So  at  last  I said,  boldly,  — 

Pump  ! what  do  you  think  of  the  people  of 
this  village  ? You  are  about  as  old  an  inhabi- 
tant as  we  have.’’ 

I waited  for  the  answer ; and  I waited  very 
patiently.  I could  understand  that  it  was  a 
question  that  required  some  thought  before  a 
proper  reply  could  be  made  ; but  the  Pump  de- 
layed so  long,  that  I was  about  to  inform  him  of 
my  opinion  in  regard  to  his  incivility,  when  the 
silence  was  broken,  — 

In  puospeeity  no  altae  smokes,”  he  said. 
The  bivee  past  and  God  foegotten,”  he 
said. 

It  IS  not  avith  saying  ^ Honey,  honey  ! ’ that 
sweetness  will  come  into  the  mouth,”  he  also 
said. 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


159 


The  mill  of  God  grinds  late,  but  it  grinds 
TO  POWDER,’’  lie  also  said. 

They  are  wise  old  sayings  — older  than  you 
and  I together.  See  if  you  can  tell  what  they 
mean,”  said  the  Pump. 

I knew  what  the  Pump  meant,  and  I 
said  in  my  heart,  ^^He  is  an  old  savage;”  and 
aloud  I said — You  think  we  are  the  wickedest 
people  in  the  world.  What  should  the  people 
do  with  their  riches? — dig  a hole  and  bury 
them  in  the  ground?  Would  that  please  you, 
Mr.  Pump?  Would  you  like  it  any  better  if 
they  dressed  in  rags  and  went  barefoot,  and 
laughed  at  the  proud  ? ” 

There  are  those  who  despise  pride  with  a 
GREATER  PRIDE,”  Said  the  Pump. 

That’s  very  true,”  answered  1.  Pride 
doesn’t  always  show  itself  in  beautiful  carria- 
ges, and  fine  clothes,  and  grand  dinners.” 

I stopped  here  in  the  middle  of  my  speech, 
for  I heard  the  sound  of  many  persons  walking 
in  the  street.  The  noise  was  so  unusual  at  that 


160 


THE  TOWN  P U M P . 


t 


time  of  niglit  that  I looked  out,  wondering  what 
could  be  going  on.  To  my  great  surprise  I be- 
held a number  of  my  friends,  and  some  others 
whom  I had  never  seen  before,  marching  up  the 
street.  At  first  I thought  I would  call  out  to 
them,  and  ask  what  they  meant  by  parading  in 
that  way  by  moonlight ; but  on  second  thought, 
I felt  it  would  be  wiser  to  ask  Mr.  Pump  for  an 
explanation. 

So  I asked  him,  and  the  answer  he  made  me 
was, 

‘‘  Keep  silence.” 

He  said  it  in  a way  that  convinced  me  more 
would  follow,  and  I was  right. 

The  procession  suddenly  disappeared,  even 
while  I was  looking  at  it.  Then  I heard  a rip- 
pling, gurgling  sound,  like  the  fiowing  of  a brook 
in  April, — the  heart  of  Mr.  Pump  was  full  to 
running  over, — it  was  a beautiful  sound.  And 
then  I saw  a little  beggar  girl.  She  was  stand- 
ing beside  Mr.  Pump.  She  was  clothed  in  rags, 
and  they  did  not  half  cover  her.  Her  feet  were 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


161 


bare,  and  one  of  them  was  bleeding,  and  she 
looked  very  tired.  On  her  arm  she  carried  an 
old  basket, — it  was  half  filled  -with  crusts  of 
bread  some  servant  had  given  her  from  the  Mas 
tee’s  table.  Well,  this  little  one  sat  down  at 
Pump’s  feet,  and  drank  from  the  cup  he  gave 
her.  You  know  what  that  cup  was,  — the  great 
wooden  trough  from  which  every  weary  one  — 
dog,  horse,  cow,  or  man — was  as  free  to  drink 
as  could  be. 

As  soon  as  she  had  eaten  the  crust,  the  little 
one  was  up  and  away  again  — singing  as  she 
went — -and  her  voice  was  not  sad,  but  merry 
and  gay.  She  was  a happy  child ; and  before 
she  was  out  of  sight  I heard  Mr.  Pump  saying 
softly  to  himself,  yet  he  meant  me  to  hear  hinn 
I thought, 

“ God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.” 

Well — I knew  of  course  that  this  was  only 
the  beginning  of  the  wonder — and  therefore  I 
leaned  back  in  my  chair,  and  thought  upon  the 

little  beggar  girl,  and  remembered  the  beauti- 
11 


162 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


ful  words  of  Scripture,  that  ^‘ISTot  a sparrow 
falls  to  the  ground  without  your  Father:  even 
the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  numbered.^’ 
And  I could  but  think  how  weak  we  are  to 
groan,  and  fret,  and  be  troubled  about  many 
things,  when  He  has  promised  never  to  leave  or 
forsake  us. 

Presently  up  came  two  young  lads,  and  these  I 
will  also  describe  for  you.  They  were  both 
poor,  — that  I knew  by  their  dress, — but  not  so 
poor  as  the  little  girl  who  was  a beggar ; for 
their  clothes  were  whole,  though  patched,  and 
the  boys  were  stout  and  strong,  and  they  were 
able  to  earn  their  bread  by  their  own  labor. 

— Which  in  fact  they  did;  and  they  worked 
for  the  same  master.  But  though  they  were 
both  young  — both  poor  — both  industrious  — 
there  was  a vast  difference  between  them.  And 
this  was  the  difference  : but  no,  I will  not  tell  it 
to  you  — I will  only  make  mention  of  the  prov- 
erb which  Mr.  Pump  said  to  them  while  he 
looked  them  in  the  face  : 


THE  TOWN  H U ]M  P . 


168 


The  master  of  one  trade  will  sujpport  a wife 
and  seven  children : the  master  of  seven  will  not 
supj)ort  himself 

And  this  was  what  I noticed,  as  I watched  the 
two  hoys  while  Mr.  Pump  said  that : one  of 
them  looked  very  indignant,  and  grew  red,  and 
angrily  walked  away,  while  the  other  took  off 
his  cap,  bowed  very  respectfully  to  the  venera- 
ble speaker,  and  said,  ^^That  is  a wise  saying  — 
thank  you  for  it,  Mr.  P P 

After  he  had  gone  away,  I saw  anotlier  youth. 
He  was  one  I knew  very  well  — a kind,  good 
soul  — and  I loved  him  very  much;  but  I was 
4ilways  afraid  for  him,  because  I knew  that  this 
is  a hard  world  for  all  who  are  not  willing  to 
take  their  proper  part,  and  do  their  proper  work 
in  it. 

He  came  strolling  up  the  street  at  the  old 
gait,  putting  one  foot  before  another  in  a way 
that  made  you  think  of  a crab  — for  you  could 
hardly  tell  if  he  meant  to  go  forward  or  back- 
ward. It  was  the  way  he  did  everything, — as 


164 


T HE  TOWN  PUMP. 


if  he  were  not  more  than  half  alive ; as  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  do  the  thing  he  was  attempting 
to  do ; as  if  he  did  not  believe  the  words  he  was 
saying  to  yon ; and  as  if  the  world  did  not  need 
him  at  all,  nor  he  the  world  in  the  least.  Yon 
shonld  have  seen  him  sannter  np  the  street! 
When  I saw  him  I wanted  to  cry  ont,  “ David, 
David ! what  are  yon  living  for  ? ” bnt  then  I 
thonght  snrely  Mr.  Pnmp  will  be  good  enongh 
and  wise  enongh  to  teach  him  a lesson  he  will 
never  forget,  and  I waited  to  hear. 

When  he  had  nearly  reached  Mr.  P , he 

seemed  to  have  no  intention  of  stopping,  bnt 
kept  on  his  way,  at  that  same  old  snail  pace." 
He  was  not  to  get  by  withont  a rebnke,  how- 
ever. Very  likely  David  sighed  as  he  ap- 
proached the  old  inhabitant.  He  had  a way  of 
sighing,  as  if  his  fate  were  the  hardest  man  ever 
bore.  I conld  see  him  start  when  the  Pnmp 
gave  that  groan  which  always  preceded  his  re- 
marks, and  I conld  also  see  his  look  of  wonder 
when  the  voice  said. 


THE  TOWN  PUMP.  165 

Who  has  a mouthy  let  him  not  say  to  another^ 
^Blow!^^^ 

David  stoj^ped  short,  — he  looked  up  at  the 
moon  ; he  looked  around  him  on  every  side.  I 
could  see  him  blush  even  at  that  distance  ; and 
then,  this  was  what  made  me  glad  — he  walked 
rapidly  up  the  street,  and  Mr.  Pump  said. 
That ’s  a good  night’s  work,  he  is  waked  up  at 
last ; yes,  and  he  won’t  go  to  sleep  again  in  a 
hurry.  Mr.  David  will  do  a good  day’s  work 
yet  — that ’s  certain.”  I blessed  the  old  Pump 
when  I heard  him  say  that. 

After  David  came  a woman.  She  also  was 
walking  very  slow — her  arms  were  folded  on 
her  breast,  and  her  head  bent.  I could  not  see 
her  face,  but  I could  hear  her  crying,  and  could 
see  that  she  wore  heavy  mourning  garments. 

I trembled  when  I saw  her.  I said — Her  sor- 
row is  more  than  she  can  bear.  I leaned  from 
the  window,  and  looked  upon  her : if  I only 
knew  her  sorrow,  surely  I,  even  I,  could  comfort 
her : this  was  my  thought.  I wondered  if  the 


166 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


Pump  would  know  what  to  say  to  her,  — he 
seemed  to  know  everything.  I hoped  in  my 
heart  it  was  no  harsh  thing  that  he  would  say. 

His  heart  was  more  tender  than  mine.  It  not 
only  was  moved  with  pity  for  her,  but  he  could 
find  the  proper  word  to  say, 

‘‘  If 0 leaf  moves  but  God  wills  itP 
That  was  what  he  said.  And  I wept  when  I 
heard  it.  But  the  woman  who  had  been  so  dis- 
tracted with  her  grief  stood  still  when  the  voice 
sounded,  as  if  the  words  came  from  heaven ; and 
after  a moment  of  dead  silence,  I heard  her  cry. 
Oh,  my  Father  in  Heaven,  forgive  me  — -.the 
child  was  thine.  It  was  thy  mercy  that  took 
him  from  me ! Forgive  me,  that  I murmured.’’ 

And  when  I looked  again  I saw  her  standing 
with  her  face  uncovered,  looking  up  into  heaven, 
smiling,  and  what  struck  me  as  very  surprising,  in- 
stead of  her  mourning  garments  she  wore  a dress 
of  white,  and  there  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes. 

After  this  came  by  another  woman,  and  she 
had  an  angry  looking  face.  It  would  have  been 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


167 


beautiful  but  for  the  angry  look.  For  sbe  was 
very  fair,  and  her  eyes  were  bright,  and  her  hair 
brown  and  curling.  But  what  made  me  shud- 
der was  that  she  carried  a serpent  in  her  arms, 
and  it  rested  upon  her  bosom  like  an  infant. 
Behind  her  followed  a younger  woman,  very 
pale,  and  she  was  lovely.  She  wept  — and  it 
was  because  of  the  words  her  companion  said 
that  she  wept.  This  I understood  at  once,  and 
I hoped  in  my  heart  that  Mr.  Pump  would  give 
the  angry  woman  a good  lesson ; and  he  did. 
He  was  not  the  person  to  neglect  so  excellent  an 
opportunity. 

And  I listened  to  hear  what  he  should  say  — 
The  evil  which  issues  feom  thy  mouth  falls 
INTO  THY  BOSOM,’’  Said  he. 

How  the  angry  woman  started  as  she  heard 
that ! She  looked  down  upon  her  folded  arms,  — 
she  saw  the  serpent  that  was  nestling  in  her  bo- 
som ! Oh ! what  a shriek  she  gave  ; and  her 
arms  were  outspread  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Upon  her  knees  she  fell,  and  in  her  fall  the  ser- 


168 


THE  TOWN  PUMP. 


pent  was  crushed  to  death.  And  also  I heard  her 
praying  for  forgiveness — of  the  woman  by  her 
side,  as  well  as  of  heaven  — and  when  she  arose 
again  I could  see  that  now  she  was  indeed  very 
beautiful ; and  I observed,  moreover,  that  the  ser- 
pent that  had  lodged  in  her  breast  went  floating 
down  the  stream  of  the  fountain  that  overflowed 
from  the  heart  of  Mr.  Pilmp.  And  when  these 
had  gone  away  I looked  out  again  into  the  street, 
but  all  was  still ; not  a soul  was  to  be  seen  there. 

Now,  said  I,  Mr.  P is  well  waked  up  — 

I will  have  a little  conversation  with  him. 

But  while  I sat  thinking  what  I should  say  next, 
it  suddenly  began  to  rain  violently  in  at  the  win- 
dow ; the  thunder  and  lightning  were  terrible  ; 
and  instead  of  holding  any  conversation  with  my 
friend,  I closed  the  blinds  and  the  window,  and 

left  him  to  talk  with  the 
storm.  And  I have  no 
doubt  that  they  had  a ve- 
ry animated  conversation, 
but  I did  not  hear  it.  I 
wish  I had. 


MRAGEANT artificials!”  exclaimed 
Julia,  laughing,  and  looking 
Rose  in  the  face,  as  if  she  did 


not  believe  one  word  of  it. 

‘‘  Just  wait,  if  you  please,  till 


you  hear  more  about  it,’’  said  Rose.  W ere  you 
ever  in  the  shop  on  the  corner  of  the  street  ? ” 

‘‘  The  one  that  looks  so  like  a garden  with  all 
those  paper  flowers  in  bouquets  ? — mercy,  yes  ! 
a hundred  times.” 

I suppose  you  stop  before  the  windows  when- 
ever you  are  going  that  way  ? ” 

‘‘Yes;  every  single  time.  I was  never  in 
such  a hurry  that  I could  n’t  take  time  for  that.” 

“ I wonder  if  you  ever  think  of  the  difference 
between  these  flowers,  and  those  that  grow  in 
the  gardens,  and  fields,  and  green-houses.” 

“ Of  course  I do,”  said  Julia. 


170  THE  FK  AG  11  ANT  AKTIFICIALS. 

Then  you  can  tell  me  the  difference,- — what 
is  it?” 

That’s  a curious  question.  What  makes  you 
ask  me  ? Do  you  really  think  I don’t  know  the 
difference  ? ” 

Tell  me  what  it  is  : it  is  only  a civil  question.” 

But  it ’s  so  odd,”  said  Julia  ; ‘‘  but  I ’ll  an- 
swer it.  Flowers  that  grow  have  roots,  and  you 
can  see  .them  opening  — the  flowers  I meam 
Paper  flowers  don’t  have  roots.  Besides,  they 
are  not  sweet,  they  have  no  fragrance.” 

“Just  prove  that,”  said  Kose. 

Julia  said  nothing,  but  went  to  the  table  and 
brought  to  her  friend  a large  bunch  of  paper 
flowers,  and  held  them  up  to  her  nose. 

“ There ! what  do  you  think  now  ? Is  there 
any  fragrance  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Bose  ; “ they  are  sweeter  than 
heliotrope  and  mignonnette.” 

“I  should  like  to  borrow  your  nose,”  said 
Julia,  laughing;  “but.  Aunty,  what  do  you 
mean  ? ” 


THE  fraoeant  artificials.  171 

Sit  down,  and  don’t  interrupt  me.  This  is 
what  I mean.  Yesterday  I went  down  to  the 
little  shop  on  the  corner.  I had  some  business 
with  the  woman  who  owns  the  shop.  On  the 
counter  were  several  large  bouquets,  which  a 
young  girl  had  just  left  there.  As  I went  into 
the  place  she  was  coming  out,  and  I could  not 
help  noticing  her,  she  was  so  good  looking. 
And  by  good  looking  I don’t  mean  her  face  was 
very  pretty,  but  it  was  modest,  and  quiet ; and 
I could  easily  imagine  what  sort  of  voice  she 
had  — that  it  was  a mild,  pleasant,  cheerful 
voice. 

I imagined  that  she  was  the  girl  who  had 
left  the  flowers  there,  and  I asked  the  woman 
if  it  was  not  so. 

“ ^ Yes,’  she  replied  ; ^ and  she  not  only  left 
them  — she  also  made  them.’ 

This  surprised  me,  the  girl  looked  so  young; 
and  I said  to  the  woman,  ‘ I had  supposed  that 
such  work  was  done  by  older  persons.’ 

“ The  woman  was  silent  for  a moment,  then 


172  THE  FRAGRANT  ARTIFICIALS. 

she  turned  away  and  arranged  the  new  bunches 
of  flowers  in  places  made  vacant  by  recent  sales ; 
after  this  she  went  into  the  back  part  of  the  shop 
and  called  ^ Tim  ; ’ at  the  same  time  she  put  on 
her  bonnet  and  came  up  to  me. 

“ ‘ Will  you  go  with  me  ? ’ she  asked. 

« i Where,  and  why  ? ’ I said. 

^ I want  you  should  see  Kate  at  her  work, — 
I want  you  should  know  how  some  things  are 
done.’ 

^ Is  Kate  the  girl  that  makes  the  flowers  ? ’ 
I asked. 

^Tes,  ’ she  answered. 

‘‘  ‘ Oh,  well  — thank  you  ; I am  very  glad  to 
go  with  you,’ — and  I was  indeed  very  glad. 

We  went  out  into  the  street  together,  and 
walked  a long  way  until  we  came  to  a narrow 
lane.  Passing  through  it  we  at  length  came 
to  a little  court  yard.  This  the  woman  entered, 
and  I followed  after  her.  Oh,  Judy,  you  were 
never  in  such  a dirty,  old,  tumble-down  place  as 
that ! Such  a wretched,  wretched  home ! — why, 


THE  FRAGRANT  ARTIFICIALS.  1T3 

your  own  little  home  is  a palace  compared  to  it. 
Some  poor  children  were  playing  in  the  court 
yard.  What  do  you  think  they  had  for  toys  ? — 
an  old  boot,  and  a rag  of  a slipper,  a piece  of  a 
broken  dish,  some  clam  shells,  and  bits  of  bot- 
tles, and  an  old  tin  pail  that  was  so  battered  and 
jammed  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  it  had 
ever  had  a shape. 

‘‘  One  little  fellow  in  the  corner  had  hurt  his 
hand  with  the  broken  glass,  and  it  bled  — so  of 
course  he  cried  at  the  top  of  his  voice, — while 
a girl  not  as  old  or  as  large  as  he,  was  trying  to 
comfort  him,  holding  up  the  toys  they  had  gath- 
ered together  one  after  another  before  his  eyes. 
But  the  smarting  cut  was  not  to  be  healed  in 
that  way.  I stopped  for  a moment,  wondering 
what  I should  do  to  help  him ; for  as  he  held 
up  his  hand,  the  blood  ran  from  it  in  a stream. 
While  I was  thinking  about  it,  another  of  the 
children  came  up,  and  without  an  instant’s  hes- 
itation tore  a strip  of  cloth  from  the  rag  of  a 
dress  she  wore,  and  tied  it  around  the  finger. 


174  THE  YKAGliANT  AKTIEIOIALS. 

^^The  woman  cried  to  me  from  the  stairs, 
which  she  had  begun  to  ascend,  Will  yon  not 
come  ? ’ 

I followed  quickly  after  her.  Up,  up,  we 
went,  until  at  last,  after  I had  thought  a dozen 
times  as  we  walked  one  flight  after  another, 
^ IsTow,  surely,  the  woman  will  stop  here ! ’ I 
cried  out, 

^Pray,  tell  me,  is  this  Jacob’s  ladder — and 
if  it  is,  where  can  it  lead  one  ? — not  into  heaven, 
I ’m  sure  ! Besides,  you  said  you  would  take 
me  into  a garden.  Pray,  what  sort  of  a garden 
is  this  ? — it  must  be  a hanging  garden,  I think, 
like  those  they  had  in  old  times.’ 

“ ‘ You  ’ll  know  all  about  it  when  you  get 
there,  and  that  will  be  immediately,  if  you  will 
only  come  on,’  said  the  woman,  who  was  far  be- 
yond me ; and  I could  hear  her  still  going  on, 
step  after  step. 

‘ Come ! come  on ! — we  are  nearly  there 
and  so  we  went  on  and  on. 

Presently  I heard  her  stop  and  rap,  and  I 


THE  FKAGKANT  AKTIFIOIALS.  175 

hurried  on  the  faster.  We  had  actually  reach- 
ed the  last  half  story.  The  house  was  five  and 
a half  stories  high,  and  we  were  in  the  garret ; 
and  for  a person  who  dislikes  stair-climbing  as 
I do,  this  was  something  of  a task  I had  per- 
formed. But  now  we  were  at  last  at  the  gate  of 
the  garden,  where  that  young  Kate  gathered  all 
her  beautiful  fiowers. 

^ It  is  only  I,  Kate,’  said  my  guide  — and  she 
tapped  lightly  again. 

At  the  same  instant  the  door  opened,  and 
Kate  stood  there  before  us ; so  we  went  into  the 
garden. 

I wonder  — but  •no,  I don’t  wonder,  for  I 
Ttnow  you  never,  never  saw,  or  imagined, 
a place  like  that.  What  sort  of  a sunshine 
do  you  suppose  those  fiowers  had  for  growing 
in  ? 

Judy  was  sure  she  did  n’t  know. 

‘^They  grew  in  the  sunshine  of  that  girl’s 
smile,”  said  Eose.  Must  she  not  have  been  ex- 
ceedingly happy  ? ” 


176  FKAGRANT  ARTIFICIALS. 

Yes — Judy  thought  she  must  he  exceed- 
ingly happy  — of  course. 

But  what  was  there  to  make  her  so  happy  ? ” 

Oh,  of  course,  Judy  couldn’t  tell  that.  How 
should  she  know  ? 

^^7* know,”  said  Hose,  “and  I mean  to  tell 
you;  but  first  do  you  tell  me,  when  Mary 
anointed  our  dear  Saviour’s  feet  with  the  pre- 
cious ointment,  why  was  he  pleased  with  the 
gift,  and  how  came  she,  who  was  poor,  to  make 
so  costly  a gift  ? ” Judy  was  silent. 

“ Don’t  you  know  ? Can  it  be  that  you  don’t 
know  ? ” asked  Rose. 

“ She  loved  much,”  said  Judy. 

“ Yes,  and  there  was  never  a gift  worth  much 
if  the  giver  could  not,  and  did  not,  love  much. 
This  may  seem  strange,  but  it  won’t  seem  so  to 
you  when  you  come  to  think  about  it.  How, 
as  to  Kate,  what  made  her  so  happy  was  this, — 
she  loved  so  much,  her  heart  was  so  generous 
and  kind.  If  it  were  really  true,  Judy,  as  some 
people  seem  to  think — that  to  be  happy  one 


THE  FRAGRANT  ARTIFICIALS.  177 

must  needs  have  a very  fine  liouse  to  live  in,  and 
very  fine  furniture  about  that  house,  grand 
clothes  to  wear,  and  rich  food  to  eat,  and  noth- 
ing in  all  the  world  to  do  but  walk  about  and 
enjoy  life^  as  they  call  it  — why,  then  this  Kate 
had  a very  poor  chance  at  happiness.  She  must 
certainly  be  very  miserable.  It  was  such  a poor 
place  that  she  lived  in.  Nothing  but  a garret, — 
no  carpet  on  the  fioor ; no  paper  on  the  wall ; 
no  pleasant  books  to  read ; no  comfortable  fur- 
niture to  use  ; no  delicious  food  to  eat ; no  pleas- 
ant prospect  from  the  windows, — indeed,  the 
little  window  was  so  high  that  even  when  Kate 
stood  upon  a chair,  she  could  hardly  look 
through  it ! 

'^^And  then,  as  to  agreeable  companions — 
there  they  were  in  the  room  with  her  — the  poor 
old  father,  who  was  wounded  by  an  accident,  so 
that  he  has  not  been  able  to  do  any  work  at  all 
this  winter,  and  little  George,  her  half-brother, 
whose  mother  as  well  as  Kate’s  mother,  is  dead. 

Poor  child ! but  he  has  fallen  into  good  hands, 
12 


178  THE  FRAGHANT  ARTIFICIALS 

Judy.  Kate  loves  him  dearly,  and  she  calls  him 
her  ^ baby  boy.’  So  what  do  you  think  of  this 
garden  where  the  flowers  grow  ? Are  not  the 
artiflcials  fragrant  ? ” 

Judy  looked  down,  and  she  smiled,  but  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  Presently  she  said, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Oh,  Aunt  Pose  ! I was  in  such  a pet  because 
I could  n’t  have  that  splendid  doll.” 

But  are  not  the  artiflcials  fragrant?”  said 
Aunt  Pose  again. 

^a"es.” 

And  what  makes  them  fragrant,  Judy?” 

^^The  love  of  the  maker.  Aunty.” 

^^Tes,”  said  Pose,  quite  solemnly,  while  she 
laid  her  hand  gently  on  Judy’s  head.  And  I 
shall  leave  these  flowers  in  a place  where  we  can 
often  look  at  them, — because,  when  we  do  look  at 
them,  I think  we  shall  remember  little  Kate,  and* 
how  industrious,  and  contented,  and  happy,  and 
loving,  she  is.  I think  that  as  long  as  they  are 
here  in  sight,  and  we  can  understand  how  fra- 


THE  FliAGEANT  ARTIFICIALS.  179 

grant  they  are,  that  we  shall  be  apt  to  exert  our- 
selves more  that  we  may  make  those  about  ns 
comfortable  and  happy.  I think  when  we  look 
upon  them  we  shall  thank  God  for  all  his  bles- 
sings, and  try  in  every  way  to  make  ourselves 
more  worthy  of  them.  And  I think,  besides, 
that  when  we  see  them  here  before  us  day  after 
day,  we  shall  never  be  led  into  temptation,  into 
which  snare  we  have  sometimes  fallen,  I fear  — 
I mean  the  temptation  to  look  with  silly  pride 
on  the  poor.  For  sometimes  we  think  ourselves 
above  them,  when  in  reality  they  may  be  far 
better  than  we,  though  their  garments  be  poor, 
and  their  homes  very  humble.  Judy,  you  will  not 
forget  ? ” 

“ But  was  there  really  no  other  nurse  for  the 
sick  man  — and  no  other  mamma  for  the  little 
^ baby  boy  ’ but  this  poor  Kate  ? Are  you  sure. 
Aunt  Bose  ? ” 

As  sure  as  can  be.  She  has  her  hands  full  — 
that’s  true;  but  don’t  call  Kate  ^poor.’  Her 
heart  is  a great  treasure,  I tell  you.  As  long  as 


180  THE  FEA-GRAISTT  ARTIFICIALS. 

she  has  that,  she  is  rich.  Don’t  look  so  sur- 
prised ; it  is  not  gold,  it  is  not  silver  that  makes 
a person  rich, — it  is  the  good,  brave,  loving 
heart.  ” 

I believe  it,  because  you  say  so.  Aunty  ; but 
it ’s  very  strange.” 

Some  day,”  said  Eose,  you  ’ll  believe  it, 
because  you  will  see  with  your  own  eyes  that  it 
is  true.*^  You  won’t  say  then  ^ It ’s  very  strange.’ 
You  will  thank  God  that  he  has  ordered  it  to  be 
so  with  his  children.” 


— little  Deb;  — but  bow  red 
and  heated  she  was ! looking 


at  something  before  her.  It 


HE  was  standing,  quiet  as  a statue 


was  lying  on  tlie  table,  and  not  for  an  instant 
did  she  take  her  eyes  off  it. 

Not  long  ago  you  might  have  seen  her  racing 
through  the  garden,  on  into  the  orchard,  back 
by  the  lane,  and  then  on  again  through  the  gar- 
den. She  was  in  pursuit  of  a large  butterfly. 
Did  she  get  it  ? Look ! you  see,  she  has  the  poor 
captive  pinned  through  the  body  to  the  table, 
and  little  Deb  has  placed  a glass  bowl  over  it,  so 
that  it  may  not  escape.  And  now  she  is  watch- 
ing all  its  movements,  and  counting  the  rings  on 
its  wings.  Every  time  those  wings  are  opened 
wide,  the  poor  fly  has  a sort  of  spasm  ; but  Deb 


182 


THE  BELL  KIN  GEES. 


don’t  think  of  that  — she  only  says,  Oh  ! that’s 
fine  — now  I can  see  nicely ! ” Little  she  cares 
for  the  pain  of  the  butterfly ; all  she  wants  is  a 
good  sight  at  the  slender  body  and  the  beauti- 
ful wings. 

Such  a splendid  butterfly  ! — ■ the  wings  are 
like  velvet,  and  of  the  most  lovely  brown ; and 
the  rings  upon  them  are  red  and  black  ; and  the 
eyes  of  the  fly  are  like  great  beads.  It  is  just 
what  Deborah  has  been  longing  for  this  long 
time, — so  she  brings  her  paint  box,  and  brushes, 
and  card  paper,  and  now  she  will  have  a butter- 
fly, all  of  her  own  making. 

So  she  works  away  with  the  paints  and  the 
brush,  and  it  never  enters  her  head  all  this  time 
to  think  that  the  poor  insect  is  in  great  misery. 

Deb  never  thinks  of  anything  except  herself. 
She  may  forget  to  do  her  duty,  but  she  never 
forgets  to  do  whatever  she  desires  to  do,  ho  mat- 
ter whether  it  is  right  or  wrong.  The  question 
she  asks  herself  when  there  is  any  work  before 
her  is  this — Will  it  be  pleasant?  — will  it 


THE  BELL  EINGERS.  *l83 

amuse  me  ? ” and  if  she  can  answer  her  own 
questions  with  a Yes^  then  she  is  always  ready 
enough  to  do  it.  Do  you  know  any  such  girl  ? 
Is  her  name  Deb  ? No ! What  is  the  name, 
then  ? 

The  picture  is  only  half  finished — ^then  her 
brother  comes. 

Deborah  ! I hn  going  to  the  pond  to  fish  — 
come  with  me  — hurry  ! ” 

Away  go  the  pencil,  and  brush,  and  paints ! 
It  is  the  greatest  fun  to  fish ! — so  much  pleas- 
anter than  painting  butterflies.  That ’s  what 
Deb  thinks  to  herself;  and  she  forgets  all  about 
the  butterfiy  under  the  glass  bowl,  with  the  pin 
through  it. 

At  night  they  come  in,  tired  and  hungry. 
They  have  had  a grand  time  at  the  fishing  pond ; 
but  all  Deborah  wants  now  is  her  tea,  and  then 
for  bed.  Yes,  she  has  forgotten  all  about  the  poor 
captive  butterfiy.  Nothing  is  truer  than  that ! 

In  the  morning,  however,  it  is  the  first  thought 
that  enters  her  head  ; and  so  impatient  is  Deb- 


18f 


THE  BELL  EIKGEK8. 


orah,  that  before  she  is  half  dressed  she  goes 
flying  down  the  back  stairs  into  the  play-house. 
But  behold ! the  poor  creature  is  dead  ! And 
what  do  you  think  the  child  does  next  ? Tears 
up  the  picture  she  was  making,  and  throws  it 
away.  Then  she  pins  the  fly  to  the  wall,  and 
there  it  hangs,  and  she  cares  no  more  about  it, 
though  she  has  killed  the  beautiful  creature  that 
took  such  delight  flying  about  in  the  sunshine, 
and  sipping  the  honey  from  the  cups  of  flowers ! 

This  is  the  child  who,  now  that  she  is  an  old 
woman,  sits  by  her  window  and  pulls  the  wire. 
I don’t  know  how  many  yards  long  it  is.  To 
this  wire  a bell  is  attached,  and  when  it  is  rung 
the  birds  are  frightened  away  from  the  fruit  trees 
in  the  orchard.  Yes,  she  can  And  time  to  do  this, 
but  if  a poor  beggar  comes  along,  and  begins  to 
tell  her  of  his  sad  fortune,  she  says,  “ Go  on ! I Ve 
no  time  to  hear” — and  then  she  rings  the  bell 
violently.  It  seems  almost  a wonder  that  the  sun 
will  ripen  the  fruit  in  that  old  woman’s  orchard. 


THE  BELL  EINGERS. 


185 


II. 

It  is  old  Peter ; he  is  nearly  a hundred  years 
old,  but  he  rings  the  bill  through  the  streets 
when  there  is  to  be  an  auction — just  as  he  used 
to  do  fifty  years  ago. 

He  is  beginning  to  show  his  age, — he  stoops 
a great  deal,  and  when  he  takes  a step  he  seems 
to  make  a sort  of  pause  after  it,  as  if  he  were 
not  quite  certain  that  he  could  take  another. 
His  hair  is  getting  very  gray,  and  his  face,  how 
many  wrinkles  there  are  in  it ! — how  deep  they 
are ! He  does  not  speak  as  plainly  as  once ; his 
voice  falters,  and  his  teeth  are  nearly  all  gone. 
He  was  very  stout  and  strong  once ; he  could 
carry  a barrel  of  flour  from  a wagon  in  the 
street  to  a cellar  near  by.  I have  seen  him  do 

*j 

it ; but  he  could  no  more  do  that  now  than  he 
could  carry  off  a city  full  of  buildings  on  his 
shoulders.  He  is  so  thin  that  he  looks  almost 
like  a skeleton.  I know  he  feels  the  weight  of 


186 


THE  BELL  KINGEBS. 


the  bell  which  he  carries  in  his  hand,  as  he  goes 
crying  Auction,  auction!”  through  the  street, 
to  be  very  heavy. 

Peter  was  a slave  once ; but  when  he  was  of 
age  his  master  gave  him  his  liberty.  For  this 
reason,  Peter,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  saved 
the  life  of  little  Edwin  Collins  — and  Edwin  was 
his  master’s  only  son.  But  though  he  w^as  set 
at  liberty,  and  was  a free  man,  and  might  go 
anywhere  he  chose,  and  do  as  other  free  men  do, 
Peter  remained  with  his  old  master  as  long  as 
the  man  lived.  It  was  not  till  after  his  death 
that  the  black  man  came  up  to  us,  and  became 
our  auction  bell-ringer. 

He  has  no  wife  and  no  children  — they  are  all 
dead  long  ago ; but  the  old  man  is  not  alone. 
One  night  last  winter  Peter  was  awakened  by  a 
loud  cry, — there  was  some  one  at  his  door.  He 
arose  and  looked  out ; it  was  a child,  half  fro- 
zen, and  half  starved  — a poor  little  lost  crea- 
ture, that  could  not  tell  where  he  came  from ; 
and  no  one  has  ever  been  able  to  discover. 


THE  BELL  RIHG-EES. 


187 


The  old  man  took  the  little  stranger  in.  He 
fed  him  from  his  table,  and  warmed  him  by  his 
fire,  and  laid  him  in  his  own  warm  bed.  And 
the  child  lives  with  him  now.  He  is  like  a 
white  lily  in  Peter’s  home  ; — ^very  soon  he  will 
be  able  to  go  ringing  the  bell  for  the  old  man, 
and  Peter  is  teaching  him,  that  he  may  do  so. 
But  he  has  taught  us  our  lesson  already, — a no- 
ble one  it  is ; and  whenever  I hear  any  one  say, 
‘‘  If  I were  rich,  it  would  be  such  a pleasure  for 
me  to  help  the  poor,”  I think  of  poor  old  Peter,” 
and  say  to  myself,  After  all,  one  need  not  wait 
till  he  is  so  very  rich  before  he  can  help  others, 
if  he  did  but  know  it ! ” 


III. 

Tinkle  ! tinkle ! tinkle ! 

It  is  the  pet  lamb  whose  fleece  is  white  as 
snow.  It  has  a silver  chain  around  its  neck,  and 
that  is  the  silver  bell  that  tinkles  so  softly. 

Last  summer  they  had  a great  fright  — the  chil 


188 


THE  BELL  RINGEES. 


dren  wlio  live  up  there  in  the  mountain  house ! 
The  pet  lamb  was  lost. 

Ella  had  wandered  off  with  it  into  the  woods. 
She  had  gathered  many  flowers  by  the  way,  and 
of  these  she  intended  to  make  a wreath  for  the 
lamb’s  neck.  But  it  happened  that  before  she 
half  got  through  her  work  the  child  fell  asleep, 
and  the  lamb,  instead  of  lying  down  beside  her, 
strayed  away,  and  when  Ella  awakened  it  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen ! All  that  afternoon  she 
wandered  up  and  down  the  woods,  crying. 

Loo ! Loo ! ” all  along  the  brookside,  down 
into  the  valley,  and  up  the  hill-side ; now  creep- 
ing on  her  hands  and  knees  among  the  bushes, 
tearing  her  clothes,  and  tangling  her  hair  with 
them,  calling  Loo ! Loo ! ” until  it  became  so 
dark  in  the  woods  that  she  began  to  fear  that 
she  herself  would  get  lost.  So  she  went  back 
by  another  path  than  that  through  which  she 
had  come,  tired  and  heated  by  her  long  search, 
and  grieving  over  the  lost  lamb  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 


THE  BELL  KIHGERS. 


189 


What  would  become  of  poor  Loo  ? — alas ! if 
she  should  fall  down  those  steep,  rocky  places, 
and  break  her  leg,  or  her  neck ! — if  any  wild 
beast  should  devour  her  ! or  if  she  should  wound 
herself  among  the  thorn  bushes,  or  put  her  eyes 
out ! — or,  more  than  all,  if  they  should  never 
find  poor  Loo,  either  dead  or  alive  again ! 

Already  the  father  and  mother  were  greatly 
alarmed,  when  it  became  so  dark  and  Ella  came 
not  home.  They  started  out  in  search  of  their 
child,  but  she  met  them  just  as  they  were  about 
to  enter  the  forest.  She  looked  like  a wild  girl, 
and  her  father  said  — Ella  must  have  seen  a 
goblin.  Did  you  dance  with  the  goblins,  Ella  ? ’’ 

All  she  could  answer  was,  Loo,  Loo ! ’’  and 
she  ran  into  her  mother’s  arms,  and  wept  there. 

It  did  not  take  them  long  to  understand  what 
had  happened  ; and  then  the  father  said  — 

You  shall  have  Loo  to-morrow,  children. 
I ’ll  turn  the  woods  inside  out,  but  you  shall  have 
her.” 

They  believed  what  he  told  them  — for  what- 


190 


THE  BELL  K I N G E R S . 


ever  lie  said  should  happen  did  always  come  to 
pass ; so  that  the  children  had  learned  to  look 
upon  their  father  as  a sort  of  good  genius.  They 
therefore  slept  quietly  and  peacefully  all  night. 
But  before  she  slept,  when  Ella  said  her  prayers, 
she  prayed  to  God  that  he  would  deliver  the 
pet  lamb  from  all  evil. 

The  next  day  the  wdiole  family  went  off  into 
the  forest  on  the  search  for  Loo.  Up  and  down 
they  went,  through  all  the  paths,  and  where 
there  were  no  paths,  until  they  all  looked  as  if 
they  might  have  danced  with  goblins,  but  no 
Loo  was  to  be  found.  To  himself  the  father 
said,  ^^Poor  little  thing — it  must  indeed  be 
lost ; but  whenever  he  met  one  of  his  children 
he  cried,  Courage  ! ^we  shall  certainly  have  her 
soon  ! — and  then  we  will  let  her  know  that  it 
is  n’t  well  behaved  in  a lamb,  though  she  is  a 
pet  lamb,  and  Loo  in  the  bargain,  to  be  turning 
a family  topsy-turvy  in  this  way.  I should  n’t 
wonder  if  she  got  a good  lesson.” 

But  then  the  children,  full  of  sorrow  and  pity, 


THE  BELL  B I N O E K S . 


191 


would  say,  “ Oh  father,  don’t ; for  she  has  had 
as  great  a fright  as  we  have.  Only  think  of  her 
being  out  here  all  alone  through  the  night ! ” 

And  to  herself  the  mother  would  say,  The 
dear  children, — this  is  their  first  sorrow.  I wish 
it  might  be  spared  them ; but  it ’s  my  be- 
lief that  we  shall  none  of  us  ever  see  Loo 
again.” 

But  all  at  once  there  was  a cry  heard  in  the 
forest,  and  they  all  ran  off  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  cry  seemed  to  come.  There  sat  Ella 
on  the  ground,  and  a little  dead  lamb  was  lying 
in  her  arms,  and  she  was  crying  aloud,  and  say- 
ing, Oh,  my  darling  is  dead  ? — Loo  is  dead  — 
dead!” 

And  they  gathered  around  her,  and  the  moth- 
er wept  silently ; for  deep  in  her  heart  she  felt 
for  the  sorrow  of  her  child.  But  the  father 
knelt  down  and  turned  the  face  of  the  lamb 
towards  him,  and  he  said  — ^^Tes,  it  is  even  so  — 
the  lamb  is  dead  ; ” — but  he  smiled  when  he  said 
it.  Ella  saw  his  smile,  and  an  angry  thought 


192 


THE  BELL  RINGERS 


came  into  lier  heart ; she  drew  the  lamb  back 
into  her  arms,  and  bowed  her  head  over  it. 

Thus  they  all  stood  for  a moment,  when. 

Tinkle ! tinkle  ! tinkle ! 

They  all  heard  it. 

And  behold,  through  the  forest  they  saw  a 
little  white  object  running  along  — and  it  came 
towards  them.  It  was  not  afraid — it  came 
close  up  to  Ella,  and  rubbed  its  nose  upon  her 
arm.  Instantly  she  leaped  up,  and  the  dead 
lamb  rolled  over  upon  the  ground,  and  it  was 
forgotten. 

Why,  this  is  Loo ! she  cried. 

Nonsense ! ’’  said  Fritz.  Where  should 
Loo  get  a silver  chain  for  her  neck,  and  a silver 
bell?  — just  look  at  that.” 

And  besides,”  said  Frank,  see  the  flowers, — 
who  would  dress  Loo  out  in  that  style  ? ” 

I,”  said  Ella. 

“ Yes — you  would  if  you  could,  very  likely — 
but  could  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Ella. 


THE  BELL  RINGERS. 


193 


But,  child/’  said  Fritz,  “ don’t  you  see  the 
chain  and  bell  ? ” 

Yes,  to  be  sure.” 

Where  did  they  come  from  ? ” 

That  I don’t  know,  Fritz,  any  more  than 
you  ; but  it ’s  Loo  as  sure  as  you  live  — only 
look  her  in  the  face  I ” 

Father,  what  is  it  ? ” said  Fritz. 

Loo,”  replied  the  old  man,  solemnly. 

‘‘  It’s  her  ghost,”  said  Frank,  laughing. 

But  what  the  mother  did  was  this,  — she  knelt 
down  and  put  her  arms  around  the  lamb’s  neck, 
and  kissed  it. 

And  after  that  they  all  did  the  same. 

Then  they  made  a grave  there  in  the  wood, 
and  in  it  they  laid  the  dead  lamb  ; and  they 
carried  back  the  snow  white  lamb,  that  had  the 
silver  bell  fastened  to  it,  neck,  to  their  own 
house,  and  softly  the  mother  said  in  her  heart. 
It  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again  — -it  was  lost 

and  is  found.” 

13 


194 


THE  BELL  EINGEES. 


IV. 

What  a sharp,  angry  sound  ! — there ’s  not  the 
least  music  in  it ! I looked  out  from  my  win- 
dow — : it  was  the  milk-man  that  was  driving  his 
fine  Arabian  horse  slowly  along,  and  at  every 
step  the  bell  that  was  attached  to  him  gave  that 
ugly  clang  ! clang ! 

The  milk-man  is  proud  of  the  steed ; and  no 
wonder,  it  is  such  a glorious  beast.  Look  what 
a gloss  there  is  on  his  neck,  and  back,  and  sides  — 
and  then  his  mane  and  tail,  how  fine ! The  horse 
is  proud  of  himself.  How  do  I know  that  ? — 
why,  he  says  as  much  every  step  he  takes.  How 
high  he  carries  his  head ! — and  his  feet  touch 
the  ground  as  if  he  thought  it  were  not  quite 
good  enough  for  them. 

He  has  served  his  master  one  or  two  not  very 
pleasant  tricks.  I saw  him  myself  one  day  run- 
ning away  with  the  cart,  and  the  milk  was  all 
spilt  when  the  cart  was  overturned  at  last.  But 


THE  BELL  LINGERS. 


195 


for  all  that  the  man  loves  the  horse,  — yes,  I 
mean  loves  him — ^ likes  is  not  the  word.  He 
loves  the  beast,  and  would  not  sell  him  for  a 
fortune. 

But  as  to  Lightning  — that  is  his  name, — I 
cannot  say  as  much  for  him.  I think  that  if  he 
loves  anything,  it  is  the  great  sandy  desert  of 
Arabia,  and  the  wild  man  who  every  night  led 
the  steed  into  his  own  tent,  and  made  a bed  for 
him  just  as  if  Lightning  were  a human  creature, 
like  himself.  I am  sure  he  has  no  great  affec- 
tion for  the  cart  he  drags  around  after  him ; and 
as  for  the  bell  that  goes  clang ! clang ! when- 
ever he  steps,  I am  quite  sure  he  hates  it. 

Because  the  bell  keeps  saying  to  him,  Trot 
along  ! ding,  dong  ! trot  along ! ” and  the  horse 
feels  that  as  keenly  as  he  would  the  milk-man’s 
whip  — to  think  of  the  bell’s  presuming  to  say 
such  things  to  him  ! 

They  have  made  a beast  of  burden  of  him. 
Yes,  he  feels  all  that ; and  I can  read  it  in  his 
eyes.  He  is  too  proud  to  make  any  answer  to 


196 


THE  BELL  RINGERS. 


the  bell, — he  says  to  himself,  I have  fallen 
very  low.  Once  I went  where  I would,  and 
was  as  free  as  the  wind.  I flew  over  the  sands 
as  fleet  as  a bird  moves  through  the  air.  Now,  in 
this  cold,  dreary  region,  I drag  my  burden  after 
me,  walking  up  and  down  the  street,  and  the 
bell  never  stops  its  talk.  But  let  it  get  an  an- 
swer if  it  can.  I should  like  to  have  the  bell 
get  an  answer  from  me  ! And  these  beasts  that 
fill  the  street  — they  are  thinking  too,  I dare  say, 
that  we  are  all  brothers ; but  my  brothers  are 
all  in  the  desert ! Alas,  I am  a slave,  and  they 
do  not  know  it.” 

And  when  I have  read  all  this,  and  more,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  beautiful  steed,  I have  seen  him 
lift  high  his  head,  and  a loud,  shill  cry  would 
break  from  him,  a hundred  times  louder  than 
the  voice  of  the  bell.  And  I alwavs  knew  that 
this  was  the  voice  of  his  grief,  and  rage  and 
pride.  I believe  his  pride  will  be  the  death  of 
the  poor  Arabian,  some  day. 


THE  BELL  KINGEKS. 


197 


V. 

It  is  a careless  hand  drawing  the  rope  that 
swings  the  bell  np  in  the  belfry  of  the  old  stone 
Court  House.  Sam  is  paid  for  the  trouble : he 
has  a hundred  other  things  to  do  to-day  : it  is 
now  only  nine  o’clock,  and  already  he  has  been 
at  work  five  hours,  and  he  will  work  more  |han 
a dozen  more  before  he  is  through  and  can  sleep 
again. 

As  he  pulls  the  rope  he  thinks  of  the  hundred 
things  to  do,  and  looks  at  his  watch, — there ! 
his  Avork  up  here  is  over, — it  is  five  minutes 
since  he  began  to  ring,  and  he  clambers  down 
the  belfry  stairs,  and  hurries  away.  The  Judge 
solemnly  goes  in  and  takes  his  place,  while  the 
people  crowd  into  the  court  room,  and  the  pris- 
oner, guarded  by  the  constables,  comes  to  be 
tried  for  murder  ! When  the  Judge  heard  the 
bell  he  looked  troubled — -when  the  people  heard 
it  they  ran  hurriedly  to  the  court  room  — when 
the  prisoner  heard  it  he  turned  pale  and  trem- 
bled, and  said,  God  help  me ! ” 


198 


THE  BELL  EINGERS. 


But  the  bell-ringer  went  his  way  whistling,  to 
gather  vegetables  for  the  great  court  dinner  at 
the  hotel  that  day. 


VI. 

The  old  man  Simeon,  stands  up  in  the  belfry 
of  the  church — they  call  the  church  St.  John’s — 
he  leans  against  the  green  blinds  of  the  tower, 
and  as  he  rings  the  great  bell,  (it  has  the  sweet- 
est tone  you  ever  heard !)  he  looks  down  into  the 
street,  and  watches  the  people  come  in. 

He  is  dressed  in  his  best.  You  would  not 
mistake  him  for  a very  fine  gentleman,  but  he 
looks  well  in  the  pastor’s  half-worn  black  coat, 
and  the  new  black  vest  and  neck-cloth  his 
daughter  Susan  bought  for  him  on  his  last  birth- 
day. His  heart  is  in  his  eyes  as  he  looks  down 
through  the  blind  into  the  street  below.  He 
does  not  show  much  interest  while  the  fine  car- 
riages are  driven  up,  and  the  rich  people  alight, 
and,  arrayed  in  all  their  splendor,  walk  into  the 


THE  BELL  EIHGEES. 


199 


holy  place.  He  does  not  think  it  strange  that 
they  come  so  proudly  in  their  state  to  worship 
the  Son  of  Mary — the  meek  and  lowly  man  who 
was  born  in  a manger  — who  lived  among  fish- 
ermen, and  feasted  with  publicans  and  sinners. 
He  does  not  think  it  odd,  though  I dare  say  he 
would  if  he  thought  about  it  at  all.  No  — he 
is  not  looking  at  these  ; nor  even  at  the  children 
of  the  Sunday  school,  as  they  come  up  the  walk 
together,  until  he  sees  his  own  dear  child  among 
them,  and  then  a soft  smile  spreads  over  his  old 
face.  For  dearly  he  loves  little  Prue.  But  look 
now  — how  the  smile  deepens  ! 

A little  group  is  passing  through  the  gate  ; — 
does  not  the  bell  give  out  a sweeter  sound  than 
bell  ever  did  before  ? 

It  is  an  aged  woman,  leaning  on  a younger 
woman’s  arm,  and  a young  man  carrying  in  his 
arms  a little  white  figure  — ah,  well  the  old  man 
understands  all  that!  It  is  his  grand-child’s 
christening  day ; and  Joseph  and  Susan  have  giv- 
en at  home,  and  will  give  before  all  the  people 


200 


THE  BELL  BINGEKS. 


this  morning,  old  Simeon’s  name  to  the  little  one. 
If  the  bell  was  tolled  less  solemnly  than  usual  this 
day — if  the  old  sexton  left  the  belfry  before  half 
the  grand  people  had  started  for  the  church — you 
understand  what  it  all  meant.  His  old  wife  knew 
very  well  when  he  came  down  and  took  his  place 
beside  her  in  their  pew,  next  the  great  door  of  the 
church  ; and  peering  at  him  through  her  specta- 
cles, she  says,  He  looks  as  handsome  as  he  did 
the  day  I married  him.”  A stupid  person  might 
say  that  love  had  made  her  blind.  But  I think 
she  had  a pair  of  first-rate  eyes  in  her  head. 


%Qhm  iit  tlj^ 


^ the  iirst  place  let  me  tell  you  — 
^ for  of  yourself  you  would  never 


find  it  out  — at  one  end  of  the 
village  is  a swamp.  I say  you 
“ would  not  find  it  out  of  your- 
self, because  the  bushes  of  the  swamp  have 
grown  so  tall  that  they  look  almost  like  trees ; 
and  there  are  also  some  trees  — not  many,  but 
these  are  of  large  size,  scattered  ovei  the  place. 

The  bushes  are  “ huckle-berry,’’  and  in  sum- 
mer time,  when  they  are  covered  with  ripe  fruit, 
the  swamp  is  visited  by  a great  many  people, 
who  gather  the  berries  and  sell  them. 

A narrow  road  runs  along  on  the  border  of 


the  swamp  ; — it  was  never  much  traveled.  As 
to  Clara,  she  had  never  been  that  way  either  on 
foot,  or  in  sleigh,  or  in  carriage. 

Clara  was  now  ten  years  old,  and  it  was  late 


202  THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  SWAMP. 

in  tlie  winter.  She  sat  by  the  window,  wishing. 
This  was  a great  shame,  yet  she  would  not  have 

believed  it  if  von  had  told  her  so.  For  she  did 

«/ 

not  know  herself.  What  hard  work  it  is  for  a 
person  to  become  really  acquainted  with  him- 
self! 

Yesterday  there  was  but  one  thing  in  the  wide 
world  wanting  to  make  her  happy.  If  the  birds 
would  only  come  back  1 True,  it  was  too  early 
for  them  to  begin  to  build  their  nests — but  if 
they  would  only  come,  though  they  made  but  a 
day’s  visit  in  the  village,  what  a comfort  it  would 
be ! There  were  the  pigeons, — but  one  could 
see  them  at  any  time.  There  were  her  pets  in 
the  cage, — but  these  were  not  what  she  wanted. 
It  was  to  see  the  free,  out-door  birds  — to  harken 
while  they  filled  the  air  with  the  melody  of 
their  songs  — to  watch  them  as  they  fiew  from 
branch  to  branch  of  the  great  elm  tree,  and  the 
maple  tree  beside  it.  The  day  before  yesterday 
she  had  wished  this  wdsh  aloud  many  times. 
It  was  a warm,  bright  day,  and  her  mother  had 


THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  SWAMP.  203 

said  it  was  her  belief  that  they  should  have  no 
more  snow  that  season.  And  lo,  that  very  night 
snow  fell  nearly  a foot  deep ! 

Oh,  what  a world  — what  a world!  Clara 
said ; nothing  ever  happened  as  it  should  1 As 
to  the  birds,  there  was  no  use  of  looking  for 
them  any  longer  — of  course  they  never  would 
come — not  even  the  robins, — no,  not  even  the 
robins ! And  why  should  they  come  ? she 
asked.  What  was  there  to  tempt  them  up  into 
that  dreary,  frozen  region  ? If  birds  really  had 
any  wisdom  they  would  stay  where  they  were, 
in  the  warm,  sunny,  delightful  south,  and  not 
risk  their  lives  and  voices  by  coming  up  into 
that  desolate  country,  where  there  certainly 
was  as  little  comfort  and  enjoyment  to  be  had, 
as  one  could  expect  to  find  at  the  north  pole  1 

All  this  complaint  Clara  made  aloud  — but 
she  little  thought  that  one  was  near  who  heard 
it  all.  She  said  it  aloud ; but  that  she  would 
never  have  done,  had  she  not  believed  she  was 
alone. 


204r  THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  SWAMP. 

In  the  afternoon  Clara  had  quite  forgotten 
about  yesterday’s  wish,  and  this  morning’s  wish. 
She  was  standing  at  the  parlor  window,  looking 
out.  While  she  stood  there  a lady  went  by.  Oh, 
she  was  splendid  ! with  her  gay  pink  bonnet, 
and  furs,  and  the  beautiful,  beautiful  velvet  dress ! 
Ah,  why  could  not  she  be  a woman  at  once, 
without  all  the  tedious  delay  ? Why  must  peo- 
ple ever  be  so  helpless,  and  little,  as  Oliver  in 
the  nursery,  who  could  not  speak  a single  word  ? 
Why  must  they  go  through  all  that  tiresome 
work  of  study  at  school,  and  at  home,  and  grow 
up  so  slowly  ? 

Oh,  what  a world  ! what  a world ! 

And  when  the  lady  half  stopped  in  the  street 
just  before  the  house,  Clara  saw  her  look  at  her 
watch  ; and  then  she  looked  up  at  the  window 
where  the  little  girl  stood ; and  would  you  ever 
believe  it  ? — tears  actually  started  into  Clara’s 
eyes  ! Oh,  if  papa  would  only  give  her  such  a 
watch  ! And  then,  when  she  looked  down  and 
saw  how  plainly  she  herself  was  dressed,  Clara 


THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  BWATitP.  205 

was  horror  struck.  Quickly  she  j)ulled  the  cur 
tain  before  her.  Could  it  be  that  the  lady  had 
seen  the  old  red  frock  and  the  plain  linen  apron  ? 
Oh,  misery ! 

After  that  Clara  went  and  sat  down  by  the 
fire-place,  and  what  do  you  suppose  she  wished 
for  then  ? Why,  that  she  were  only  old  enough 
to  have  a house  of  her  own,  to  be  rich,  to  be 
married,  and  to  have  beautiful  gay  clothes ! 
Ah  ! she  would  never  wear  a plain  linen  apron 
and  an  old  red  frock  in  those  days  — that  was 
very  certain.  She  would  have  a velvet  dress, 
and  a gay  hat,  and  splendid  furs ! Yes,  cer- 
tainly — and  a thousand  other  things. 

And  so  she  thought,  and  thought,  until  sud- 
denly there  came  a sound  of  sleigh  bells,  so  near 
that  Clara  was  quite  startled.  Again  she  ran  to 
the  window.  There  sat  her  father,  and  the 
instant  he  saw  her  he  beckoned  her  to  come  out 
and  ride  with  him.  In  two  minutes  more  she 
was  sitting  beside  him  in  the  sleigh.  Crack ! 
and  away  they  went. 


206  THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  SWAMP. 

It  had  stopped  snowing.  How  pure  and  white 
the  great  drifts  lay  by  the  side  of  the  road  where 
the  wind  piled  them  last  night,  — how  bine  the 
sky  was,  and  how  clear  the  air!  It  whiffed 
away  all  the  idle  things  Clara  had  been  dream- 
ing by  the  fireside. 

It  was  np  by  the  swamp  that  they  went.  That 
was  a lonely  road, — why  should  they  go  off  in 
that  direction  where  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen?  Why  could  they  not  go  where  the 
people  were,  down  through  the  street  ? If  the 
road  were  well  broken  she  would  not  care,  but 
only  one  sleigh  had  been  that  way  since  the  last 
snow  fell.  What  could  it  mean  that  her  father 
chose  this  ugly  road  ? 

As  they  came  to  the  dark  bushy  wood,  Clara 
began  to  complain  aloud,  and  to  say,  What 
did  make  you  choose  this  road,  father  ? ” 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  first  — nor  did  he 
seem  to  hear  her, — for  his  eyes  were  turned 
away  from  her,  and  wandering  in  the  direction 
of  the  gloomy  swamp.  At  length  he  said. 


THE  EOBIJST  IN  THE  SWAMP. 


207 


Open  your  eyes  wide,  Clara ; now  what  do 
yon  see  ? ” 

Very  wide  she  opened  her  eyes. 

^^Why,  father,  is  that  a robin,  here  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  snow  ? ” 

What  do  you  think  about  it  ? ” asked  he. 

It  looks  like  one,  ” she  answered,  and  her  face 
began  to  look  as  if  she  were  recalling  slowly  all 
she  had  said  yesterday  — such  foolish,  wicked 
stuff. 

And  what  does  that  look  like,  Clara?’’ he 
asked,  raising  his  whip  and  cracking  it  toward 
the  swamp ; and  as  he  did  so  a great  multitude 
of  birds  started  off  on  the  wing  for  the  wood. 
‘‘  That  is  what  you  wished  for  yesterday  ; — see, 
what  a host  of  birds,  all  robins,  too ! And  all 
living  through  the  whole  winter,  not  half  a mile 
from  your  own  home ! I wonder  if  you  have 
been  wishing  for  anything  to-day,  my  child  ? ” 

Clara  did  not  answer  — she  hid  her  face  in- 
stead. If  there  were  any  tears  in  her  eyes 
now,  you  may  rely  upon  it,  they  were  not  such 


208  THE  ROBIK  IN  THE  SWAMP. 

tears  as  slie  shed  in  the  morning,  when  she  wish- 
ed she  were  only  a woman  — nor  such  as  she 
shed  yesterday,  when  she  was  wishing  that  the 
birds  would  only  come.  I think  that  sleigh-ride 
did  her  good.  If  it  did  not,  more ’s  the  pity ! 


^arirm* 


iHE  place  was  like  a garden,  though 
no  one  thought  to  call  it  so,  ex- 
: cept  a poet.  The  month  was  June, 


and  all  the  white  rose  trees 


were  in  blossom.  The  grass  had  been  newly 
cut ; and  never  were  the  alanthus  and  willow 
trees  more  beautiful  than  now — for  the  sum- 
mer dust  had  not  yet  lodged  upon  and  soiled 
their  fresh  green  leaves.  In  a corner  of  a grave- 
yard— it  was  a grave-yard,  though  the  poet 
called  it  a garden — was  a flower-bed.  That 
was  what  it  looked  like,  though  in  reality  the 
mound  was  a grave,  and  the  pinks,  and  violets, 
and  moss,  and  verbena,  and  heliotrope,  which 
grew  upon  the  mound,  were  planted  there  by 
sorrowful  hearts,  and  tears  were  shed  there  like 
the  dew. 

This  place  was  separated  from  the  rest  of  the 


14 


210 


THE  GAKDEK. 


burial-ground  by  a hedge  of  cedar  and  hemlock 
bushes.  Except  this  hedge,  all  the  plants  had 
been  placed  here  recently.  A month  ago  no 
mound  was  to  be  seen  in  this  portion  of  the  bu- 
rial-ground; and  the  plants  flowering  upon 
the  grave  were  in  another  sort  of  garden ; 
and  she  who  was  buried  there  had  walked  about 
in  that  garden,  and  watched  the  flowers  unfold- 
ing. Much  she  loved  them. 

Now  she  is  dead  — and  this  young  girl  that 
comes  over  the  style,  and  walks  along  so  quietly, 
as  if  she  were  half  afraid,  has  come  to  the  place 
where  the  lady,  who  v/as  her  mother,  is  buried. 
Her  hands  are  full  of  flowers,  and  these  she 
places  on  the  grave.  See ! it  looks  like  a great 
bouquet  lying  there  upon  the  ground.  And  she 
sits  down  — the  little,  motherless  girl ! — and 
leans  her  head  upon  her  hand.  She  has  come 
to  think  of  the  dead. 

It  is  so  lonely  now  at  home  — she  has  wished 
many,  many  times,  that  she'  might  also  creep 
into  that  grave,  and  lie  down  beside  her  mother, 


THE  GARDEN. 


211 


as  she  used  to  do.  If  she  might  only  hear  that 
dear  friend  saying  once  more,  My  darling 
child!’’ 

At  home,  np  in  the  village,  her  brothers  play 
as  noisily  and  gaily  as  ever, — no  one  would 
suppose  that  they  had  met  with  a great  loss, — 
and  Sally  works  away  after  the  same  old  fash- 
ion, and  papa  attends  to  his  books  and  business. 
No  one  seems  to  think  that  the  home  is  less 
comfortable,  less  pleasant,  less  cheerful  than  it 
was  a month^ago.  They  all  bear  the  loss  very 
ygell.  There  is  something  to  comfort  and  occu- 
py them  all  except  poor  Jane;  — she  can  do 
nothing  but  think  of  her  mother,  and  then  she 
gathers  the  flowers  and  carries  them  off  to  the 
burial-ground.  The  gardener  says  nothing,  but 
he  has  looked  rather  cross  of  late,  as  if,  did  he 
not  feel  so  sorry  for  her,  he  would  say  that  she 
was  spoiling  the  garden  with  gathering  so  many 
bouquets. 

Last  Sunday  the  father  came  here  with  his 
children  — and  much  he  talked  with  theimabout 


212 


THE  GARDEN. 


their  mother;  and  he  charged  them  to  neve 
forget  her,  but  always  to  think  of  her  as  alive, 
because  she  really  was  alive,  though  she  had 
gone  to  another  country,  and  they  would  never 
-ee  her  anywhere  on  earth  again.  V ery  tenderly 
the  father  spoke,  and  all  the  while  he  held  little 
Jane  by  the  hand,  and  the  boys  stood  by  the 
grave  and  wept. 

But  when  they  left  the  grave-yard  they  seemed 
to  forget  where  they  had  been,  and  what  they 
had  seen,  for  they  laughed  and'  talked  — the 
boys  did  — all  the  way  home  about  what  they 
would  do  with  themselves  and  Nep  (Nep  was 
their  dog,)  to-morrow.  And  the  father,  too,  had 
forgotten,  Jane  said  to  herself,  for  he  began  to 
talk  about  her  studies,  and  to  say  that  he  thought 
she  must  begin  to  go  to  school  again. 

Jane  went  directly  into  her  room  when  she 
reached  home.  There  she  sat  down  to  think 
upon  her  mother  — to  recall  her  loving  words, 
and  tender  acts  of  kindness  — “ But,”  she  said, 
while  she  wept  bitterly  at  the  thought,  none 


THE  GARDEN. 


213 


of  them  care ; before  the  year  is  out  they  will 
forget  all  about  her.  I loved  her  best  of  all ; 
and  I am  the  only  one  that  really  cares  about 
it.”  And  there  was  pride  as  well  as  grief  in 
Jane’s  tears,  — you  may  know  that  by  her 
reflections. 

And  this  pride,  alas ! only  grew  stronger  and 
stronger — not  less  and  less  — the  more  Jane 
thought  upon  her  own  grief,  and  compared  it 
with  that  her  father  and  the  boys  felt,  on  ac- 
count of  the  death  of  her  mother. 

' You  will  say  this  was  a strange  sort  of  pride. 
I think  so  too  ; yet  it  w^as  what  Jane  really  felt. 
But  you  will  recollect  that  pride  is  like  a cha- 
meleon — it  presents  itself  in  every  imaginable 
hue.  As  long  as  the  heart  is  not  freed  from  it  — 
as  long  as  it  remains  like  a prisoner  there  — it 
will  be  forever  showing  itself,  and  making  itself 
heard.  If  it  speaks,  it  speaks  evil ; if  it  is  silent, 
the  silence  is  not  good.  Unhappy  heart,  so  long 
as  pride  remains  in  it ! Unhappy  heart ! for  it 
is  said  that  God  holds  the  proud  afar  off ; and 


214 


THE  G-ARDEN. 


we  all  know  that  they  alone  are  happy  to  whom 
God  is  near. 

J ane  resolved  that  she  wonld  never  go  into 
the  bnrial-gronnd  again,  either  with  her  broth- 
ers or  her  father, — she  would  go  there  alone  — 
and  think  in  silence,  and  deck  the  grave  by 
herself. 

There  came  a day,  however,  when  she  was  not 
allowed  to  remain  alone.  ISTot  that  any  of  her 
own  house  came  down  to  weep,  and  to  think 
with  her;  but  another  child  — a little  girl  — 
was  passing  by  that  way,  and  seeing  the  beauti- 
ful flowers  on  the  grave,  she  climbed  over  the 
style,  and  went  along  the  garden  paths,  until  she 
came  to  the  place  where  Jane  was. 

How  nnlike  they  were^ — two  children,  and 
both  girls,  yet  so  unlike ! The  little  stranger  was 
poor.  How  do  I know  ? — her  dress  showed  it, — 
and  she  was  a foreigner  besides  — an  Irish  girl. 
Her  eyes  told  a good  story  of  her.  They  said 
that  she  had  a kind  and  gentle  heart,  as  they 
looked  from  the  grave  to  Jane,  and  from  Jane 


THE  GARDEN. 


216 


to  the  grave,  so  quietly,  so  sadly  — as  much  as  to 
say,  I am  very  sorry  for  you.” 

Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  her  voice  was  gentle. 
These  things  made  me  think  of  the  angels ; yet 
I dare  say  not  many  people  thought  the  Irish 
girl  angelic  ! — but  she  made  me  think  of  them — 
for  the  skies  are  blue,  and  we  know  that  the 
angels  are  beyond  there.  We  cannot  see  them — 
those  angels  — but  we  know  they  are  there. 
Who  is  buried  here  ? ” asked  the  stranger. 

Jane  looked  up  quickly  when  she  heard  the 
voice.  Until  then  she  had  supposed  that  she 
was  alone. 

The  first  thing  she  thought  was  — 

What  a fright ! What  business  has  this  emi- 
grant girl  to  be  speaking,  to  me?  She  may  wait 
for  an  answer  till  she  gets  it.” 

So  Jane  turned  away  and  said  nothing.  She 
kept  a proud  silence.  She  thought  the  girl 
would  go  away ; but  after  a while,  seeing  that 
she  did  not  go,  Jane  looked  at  her  again,  as 
much  as  to  say,  What  are  you  staying  for?” 


216 


THE  GARDEN. 


But  the  girl’s  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  grave,  and 
so  strange  was  the  expression  of  her  face,  that 
i)ane  could  not  help  saying. 

What  are  you  thinking  of?  ” 

My  mother,”  answered  the  stranger. 

What  of  her  ? ” said  Jane  — and  this  question 
was  asked  in  a very  different  way  from  the 
other. 

I wish  I might  lay  flowers  on  her  grave.” 

Is  she  dead  ? ” 

Yes  — she  is  dead.” 

“ And  where  is  her  grave,  then  ? ” 

^^In  the  ocean.” 

The  ocean ! ” exclaimed  Jane.  What ! in 
the  Atlantic  Ocean?” 

“Yes  — and  she  was  buried  in  a storm.” 

“Oh,  how  could  you  ! ” 

“The  mate  and  the  sailors  did  it, — she  had 
the  fever.” 

“What  did  you  do  then? — your  father  was 
with  you  ? ” 

“ He  died  first.” 


THE  GARDEN. 


217 


Then  your  brother  — he  was  with  you  ? ” 

I was  alone.  I have  no  brother  and  sister. 
There  were  only  us  three.’’ 

Oh ! I should  have  thought  you  would  have 
died  too,”  cried  Jane. 

I could  n’t.  I would  if  I could.  Who  did 
you  say  is  buried  here  ? ” 

^^My  mother,”  answered  Jane,  quickly  — 
ashamed  to  think  of  what  had  kept  her  from 
replying  when  the  girl  asked  it  before. 

There  is  only  one  grave.  Then  you  have 
all  the  rest  alive.” 

“Yes  — there  is  papa,  and  Willie,  and  Gideon, 
at  home.  And  papa  says  that  our  mother  is  not 
dead  — that  she  has  gone  to  another  country, 
and  we  shall  see  her  again.” 

“ Yes  — I know,  if  we  act  right,”  said  the  girl. 
“It ’sin  heaven  they  are  — your  mamma  and 
mine.  It ’s  good  to  be  there.” 

“Wouldn’t  you  be  afraid  — ” Jane  began  to 
say,  but  she  stopped  before  she  had  fairly  asked 
the  question. 


218 


THE  GARDEN. 


“ To  die  ? — afraid  to  die,  do  yon  mean?  No, 
I ’m  more  afraid  to  live  : for  — who  knows  ? — 
I may  be  tempted,  and  do  some  evil  thing,  on 
account  of  which  I shall  never  get  into  heaven. 
That  is  what  I pray  for  — to  be  kept  from  temp- 
tation. Do  yon  ? ’’ 

^^Yes,’’  answered  Jane.  But  she  had  nevei 
in  her  life  prayed  so  heartily  and  earnestly  as 
she  was  doing  at  that  moment. 

And  I think  that  as  she  walked  out  from  that 
garden,  hand  in  hand  with  the  emigrant  girl, 
and  told  her  to  come  there  whenever  she  would 
like  to,  and  to  think  about  her  mother  who  was 
buried  in  the  ocean,  there  — I think  that  it  may 
be  the  two  mothers,  who  loved  our  dear  Lord 
on  earth,  looked  down  and  smiled  a blessing  on 
their  children,  who  were  praying  in  their  hearts 
at  that  moment  to  the  Saviour. 

I think,  besides,  that  the  proud  thought  which 
Jane  had  thought,  as  if  she  were  the  only 
mourner  in  her  father’s  house,  was  rooted  from 
her  heart  when  she  went  home  that  day. 


THE  GAEDEN. 


210 


It  was  noon,  and  very  warm,  and  Gideon  was 
lying  in  the  hall  upon  the  lounge,  asleep,  as 
Jane  went  in  at  the  front  door.  She  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  him.  He  was  talking  in  his 
sleep — tears  were  streaming  from  his  eyelids, 
and  what  he  said  in  his  sleep  was  this  — Oh 
mother!  mother!  do  not  go  — do  not  leave  me 
alone  ; ” and  he  sobbed  heavily. 

He  said  this  — and  all  the  while  Jane  had 
been  accusing  him  in  her  heart,  and  saying  to 
herself  that  they  had  all  forgotten  that  dear 
mother  except  herself ! 

Then  later  in  the  day,  when  she  stood  on  the 
piazza,  the  silence  all  at  once  was  broken.  She 
heard  a low  voice,  and  at  first  she  could  not  tell 
where  it  was ; but  as  she  listened  it  grew  louder 
and  more  distinct — it  was  her  father  praying  ; 
and  these  were  the  words  that  fell  upon  her 
ear  — “Help  me,  oh  God!  Thou  hast  taken 
away  the  friend  of  my  heart,  the  companion  of 
my  life,  the  mother  of  my  children  ! — help  me 
that  all  my  duty  towards  those  children  may  be 


220 


THE  GARDEN. 


done  ; that  at  last  in  heaven  we  may  be  united  to 
her  who  has  gone  before  us.’’  And  many  other 
words  of  the  prayer  she  heard.  He  asked  that  his 
sorrow  might  not  make  him  selfish,  proud,  hard- 
hearted — and  he  was  weeping  while  he  prayed. 
This  was  her  father ! and  Jane  had  said  to  herself 
that  none  remembered  or  wept  for  the  loss  of  her 
mother — none  but  herself ! Oh,  poor  child ! little 
she  knew  what  had  been  in  the  hearts  of  the  rest 
of  the  household.  But  she  knew  it  all  now.  And 
in  her  grief  for  her  lost  mother,  she  never  shed 
bitterer  tears  than  she  shed  now,  when  she  refiect- 
ed  on  the  pride  and  selfishness  of  her  own  sorrow. 


®ljc  ®riiraprf  ^lolijtr; 

ANOTHER  STORY  OE  THE  CROSS. 

MAN  built  a summer-house  in 
the  middle  of  his  garden  — and 
he  planted  vine  roots  at  the  four 
corners,  and  they  all  died  but 

one. 

That  same  summer  the  man  himself  died ; and 
in  the  autumn  his  widow  and  her  son  went  away 
on  a long  j ourney — and  they  were  gone  four  years. 

The  garden  was  left  in  charge  of  a man  and  a 
fairy.  Yes,  it  was  a fairy,  as  well  as  a man,  that 
had  the  charge,  though  nobody  knew  anything 
about  that,  for  the  fairy  took  her  part  in  the 
business  without  any  invitation.  Fairies  are 
not  governed  by  the  laws  of  fashionable  society. 
When  they  wish  to  do  a good  deed,  they  do  it 
without  waiting  for  an  invitation.  And  they 
don’t  run  about  to  tell  all  the  world  of  the  good 
they  mean  to  perform,  either.  They  go  to  work 
at  once  to  do  it. 


222 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


But  the  gardener  had  the  idea  that  he  was  the 
sole  manager  of  the  place.  He  was  a very  good 
man,  but  he  was  ignorant,  and  knew  nothing 
about  fairies.  He  had  a deal  of  taste,  however. 
He  could  tell  how  the  flower  beds  might  be  laid 
out  with  the  best  effect,  and  what  style  of  blos- 
soms looked  best  together ; also,  he  was  very 
neat  in  his  habits,  and  it  was  a daring  weed  that 
ventured  to  show  its  face  in  any  of  those  gar- 
den walks  that  were  under  his  charge. 

There  was  only  one  vine  root  that  lived,  of  the 
four  that  the  owner  of  the  garden  planted  at  the 
corners  of  the  summer-house.  Great  care  the  man 
took  of  this  plant  — great  skill  he  showed  in  train- 
ing it — for  he  spread  the  branches  about  over  the 
frame-work  in  such  a manner,  that  as  it  grew  it 
could  not  help  covering  the  whole  of  the  lattice 
work. 

One  night  he  had  gone  into  the  garden  — for 
it  was  there  that  he  spent  his  leisure,  as  well  as 
his  working  hours.  He  was  standing  by  the 
tool  house  at  the  end  of  the  longest  walk,  and 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


223 


his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  that  famous  vine,  its 
dark,  rich  green  leaves,  and  beautiful  red  fiowers. 
‘^Wonderful ! ” he  exclaimed  in  his  delight  — 
never  did  a vine  grow  like  that ! But  it ’s  all 
owing  to  the  care  it  has  had.  If  I ’m  a living 
man,  I We  done  my  duty  by  that  vine.” 

Yes,”  said  a voice, — it  was  the  voice  of  the 
fairy  that  was  standing  beside  him, — that ’s 
the  truth;  but  don’t  you  think  it  could  be 
improved?  ” 

The  vine?”  exclaimed  the  gardener,  as  if 
he  were  amazed  that  any  one  should  imagine  it 
could  be  improved. 

‘^Tes,  the  vine  — it’s  appearance,  I mean.” 
don’t  understand,”  said  the  gardener, 
coldly,  in  a tone  of  great  displeasure. 

Let  me  explain,  if  you  don’t  understand,” 
said  the  fairy,  half  laughing ; for  she  thought  it 
very  stupid  in  the  gardener  to  get  into  a huff 
the  moment  any  one  ventured  to  suggest  an  im- 
provement. ‘‘That  round  shape  is  too  old- 
fashioned.” 


224: 


THE  T K U M H E T F L O W E E . 


Old-fashioned ! old-fashioned ! ’’  he  said  sharp- 
ly. Well,  I hope  it ’s  none  the  worse  for  that ! ” 

‘^IsTone  the  worse — but  none  the  better  — 
and  not  so  pretty  as  it  might  be,  Mr.  Gardener. 
Now,  I leave  it  to  your  own  good  sense,  and 
excellent  taste, — don’t  you  think  the  summer 
house  would  be  greatly  improved,  if  its  shape 
were  slightly  altered?” 

She  spoke  very  respectfully,  and  the  man  could 
not  help  asking,  How  could  it  be  altered?” 

You  can  make  some  little  ornament  of  wood, 
you  know,  and  then  train  the  vine  around  it. 
Just  try  it  and  see,  and  if  you  don’t  like  it,  why 
nobody  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  dispute  your 
taste,  Mr.  Gardener.” 

^^But  what  sort  of  an  ornament?  ” asked  the 
gardener,  somewhat  softened,  and  in  a fair  way 
of  being  convinced  by  the  fairy’s  delicate  com- 
pliments. 

“ What  is  the  name  of  the  vine?  ” asked  she, 
as  if  she  really  did  not  remember.  But  this 
only  proved  that  the  fairy  had  all  her  wits  about 


T H E T R V :M  P E 1'  I-'  1.  O W E R . 


225 


lier,  because  slie  knew  that  when  Mr.  Gardener 
spoke  the  name,  he  would  of  himself,  without 
any  further  assistance,  think  of  the  ornament 
that  would  be  most  fit  and  proper. 

Trumpet  fiower,”  he  answered. 

And  the  fairy  said,  ^^Well,”  as  if  she  fully 
expected  him  to  go  on.  But  the  gardener,  instead 
of  making  any  further  remark,  walked  off  toward 
the  summer  house,  and  there  he  sat  down  to 
think  of  what  the  fairy  had  said.  For  he  was 
not  so  quick-witted  as  some  other  people.  And 
he  did  not  get  through  with  his  thinking  on  the 
subject  that  day  — no,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  the 
next. 

But  the  week  after  — you  see  it  all  happened 

at  last  just  as  the  fairy  believed  it  would  — the 

week  after,  if  you  had  walked  past  that  garden, 

you  would  have  seen  a cross  perched  on  the  mid^ 

die  of  the  roof  of  the  sumnier  house.  It  was, 

indeed,  a great  improvernent.  So  the  gardener 

thought  after  it  was  all  done,  and  he  had  looked 

at  his  work  from  every  point  of  the  garden. 
15 


226 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


That  fairy’s  acquaintance  must  be  worth  cul- 
tivating,” he  said  ; and  he  thought  that  when  he 
was  again  at  leisure,  he  would  have  a long  con- ' 
versation  with  her  on  the  art  of  gardening.  It 
was  such  a capital  idea  she  had  suggested — that 
of  training  the  trumpet  flower  vine  around  a 
cross ! Can  you  guess  why  ? 

The  very  night  after  the  cross  was  flxed  in  its 
place  on  the  summer  house,  the  widow  and  her 
son  returned  from  their  travels.  ISTo  one  ex- 
pected them — no  one,  therefore,  of  all  the 
workmen  employed  about  the  place,  was  so  well 
prepared  to  render  in  an  account  of  their  stew- 
ardship, as  the  old  gardener.  Him,  and  his 
enjoyment  of  the  surprise,  it  was  really  delight- 
ful to  see.  But  the  rest  of  the  people  were  in  a 
sad  predicament. 

If  you  had  looked  in  upon  the  returned  trav- 
elers an  hour  after  their  arrival,  you  would  have 
found  the  widow  in  her  chamber,  on  her  knees, 
weeping  — weeping  for  joy  and  thankfulness 
that  they  were  returned  in  safety  at  last.  But 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


227 


nowhere  in  all  the  house  could  you  have  found 
the  son. 

Where  was  he  ? — in  the  beautiful  garden. 

Why  was  he  there?  What  tempted  him? 
The  moonlight. 

And  nothing  but  the  moonlight  ? Yes ; the 
fairy  had  a hand  in  it  — a voice  in  it,  I mean. 

Well,  and  what  else?  He  saw  the  cross. 

Well?  He  heard  the  fairy. 

And  what  beside  ? She  taught  him  a more 
important  lesson  than  he  had  learned  in  all  his 
wanderings. 

What  lesson  ? That  the  cross  is  more  to  be  de- 
sired than  the  crown — that  it  is  a blessing,  not  a 
burden.  For,  this  was  just  what  she  said  to  him. 

He  had  thrown  himself  full  length  upon  the 
bench  within  the  arbor  — twice  he  had  done 
that  already,  and  twice  had  he  risen,  that  he 
might  see  if  in  reality  it  was  a cross  that  the 
gardener  had  placed  upon  the  top  of  the  sum- 
mer house-.  Now  the  third  time  that  he  lay 
down,  the  fairy  came  to  him. 


228 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


So  you  are  back  again,”  slie  said,  speaking 
to  him  as  if  be  were  an  old,  familiar  friend.  He 
was  not  surprised  to  bear  ber  — you  would  bave 
tbougbt  it  was  exactly  wbat  be  expected  — that 
sbe  sbould  come  and  speak  to  him  in  that  way. 

“Yes,”  be  replied  — “home  again  at  last.” 

“ Are  you  glad  ? ” asked  sbe. 

“ Glad,  and  not  glad.”. 

“ Why  glad  ? ” 

“ I ’m  tired  of  travel.” 

“ And  why  not  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  what  to  do  with  myself  next.” 

“Are  you  tired  of  sight-seeing?” 

“ Yes  — but  why  do  you  ask  ? ” 

“ I might  show  you  a sight.” 

“Pray  show  it ;”  “ if  you  please,”  he  added — 
and  that  was  an  unusual  addition  for  him  to 
make,  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  entreating  but 
of  commanding  ; though  so  young  a lad,  lie  was 
willful,  and  bent  on  having  his  own  way  in  all 
things. 

“ Behold,  then.” 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


229 


And  the  boy  beheld. 

It  is  a battle-field,”  he  said,  and  his  eye 
fiashed — there  will  be  a splendid  fight.” 

What  then  ? ” 

This  is  very  strange,”  said  this  boy ; ev- 
idently he  could  not  understand  it.  “ They  carry 
no  swords  — the  drums  do  not  beat  — they  have 
no  trumpets  — is  it  a battle-field  ? ” 

“ Yes — -but  what  is  it  that  you  see  ? ” 

^ Children,  and  old  men,  and  young  men,  and 
women  — all  is  confusion.” 

It  is  the  world,”  said  the  fairy. 

And  what  is  that  altar?  ” 

It  is  an  altar.” 

Yes — but  what  may  it  mean?  ” 

The  soldiers  make  their  offerings  there  be- 
fore they  enlist  in  the  great  army.” 

What  army  ? ” asked  the  boy 
^‘Do  you  not  perceive? — the  army  of  the 
cross.” 

Ah ! yes ; they  sacrifice  at  the  altar,  and 
then  receive  their  badge.” 


230 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


That  is  true.  Observe  now,  there  is  an  offer- 
ing to  be  made.” 

Yes,”  said  the  boj,  almost  breathless  with 
wonder. 

‘^And  yon  can  understand  it  ? ” asked  the  fairy. 

Yes,”  he  answered,  in  a softened  tone. 
^^And  the  children  also  sacrifice?”  he  said 
presently,  wondering  more  and  more. 

They  also  sacrifice,”  repeated  she  — “ and  ob- 
serve, it  is  a light  cross  that  is  given  them  to  bear. 
See  how  courageous,  yet  how  meek  they  are.” 

But,”  said  the  boy,  speaking  very  rapidly, 
the  gifts  are  not  always  left  upon  the  altar ! 
Some  of  the  soldiers,  as  you  call  them,  carry 
them  away  again.” 

Ah,”  said  the  fairy,  but  they  take  the  cross 
also  with  them,  do  they  not  ? ” 

Yes,  it  is  even  so,”  he  answered,  astonished. 
There  is  an  artist ! and  he  carries  his  paints, 
and  canvas,  and  brushes,  away  with  him  ; and 
another  who  takes  his  harp,  and — and  a multitude, 
who  all  carry  with  them  what  they  brought.” 


THE  TRUMPET  FLOWER. 


231 


Yet  all  these  bear  a cross,  also,  from  the 
altar  ? ” asked  the  fairy  again 

‘‘Yes,  all.” 

“Which  shows  that  their  gift  is  sanctified. 
Now  look  at  those  who  will  not  come  np  with 
an  offering  — to  the  multitude  that  bear  no 
cross.” 

The  boy  looked.  “ There  are  none  such,”  he 
said  presently. 

“ Indeed,”  the  fairy  exclaimed,  as  if  she  could 
hardly  believe  that. 

“ They  have  a heavier  burden  to  bear,”  he 
sighed,  at  length,  after  he  had  looked,  and 
thought  about  it  for  a long  time. 

“ Tell  me  the  name  of  that  burden.” 

“ It  is  their  Sm  ? ” 

“ Yes ! It  is  their  darling  sin.  Harken ! ” 

He  listened,  and  he  heard  a voice  sweeter 
than  an  angel’s,  crying,  “ Take  my  yoke  upon 
you  and  my  burden,  for  it  is  light ! Come  unto 
me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and 
I will  give  you  rest ! ” And  the  voice  seemed 


232 


T H E T li  U M P E T F L O W E R . 


to  come  from  the  high  cross  before  which  stood 
the  altar,  where  the  sacrifices  were  made. 

And  the  boy  looked  to  see  if  there  were  any 
that  refused  to  obey  that  wondrous  call,  and 
afar,  in  the  midst  of  a restless,  struggling  crowd, 
he  saw  a face  and  a figure  that  he  had  often 
seen  before.  He  knew  it  better,  more  thoroughly 
than  any  face  and  figure  in  the  world.  And  in 
his  heart  he  trembled  and  wept,  fof  the  face  was 
turned  away  from  the  altar,  and  the  figure  did 
not  bear  that  emblem  which  the  soldiers  of  the 
cross  bore.  He  saw  all  this,  and  he  groaned 
aloud  — but  the  fairy  now  was  silent.  So  he 
watched  and  waited  ; oh,  in  what  fear  and  trem- 
bling, until  at  last,  oh  joy  ! the  figure  turned,  — 
it  moved  away  from  the  noisy  crowd, — it  ran  — 
it  ran  as  if  death  were  pursuing  it, — and  be- 
hold ! it  bowed  before  the  altar  and  the  cross, 
and  the  sacrifice  that  he  laid  upon  the  altar  was 
consumed, — the  fire  from  heaven  fell  and  de- 
voured it. 

And  if  the  fairy  were  by  his  side  when  the 


T HE  T K U M P E T F L O W E K . 233 

boy  arose  and  went  in  to  bis  mother,  I know 
not.  But  if  she  were,  then  she  also  must  have 
heard  him  when  he  told  her  that  henceforth  he 
also  was  a Soldier  of  the  Cross.  That  he  had 
sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  repentance,  and 
faith,  his  cherished,  his  darling  Sin. 

So  you  see  how  it  was  that  the  gardener  was 
the  means  of  accomplishing  a great  and  a good 
thing,  when  he  placed  the  ornament  in  the 
shape  of  the  cross  on  the  summit  of  the  sum- 
mer-hoiise.  A loud  Amice  speaking  through  a 
trumpet  could  not  haAm  been  heard  more  dis- 
tinctly than  that  blessed  Amice  the  young  lad 
heard  resounding  through  his  soul. 

Keader,  is  there  anywliere  in  the  garden  of 
your  heart,  room  for  an  arbor,  and  a vine,  and  a 
symbol,  like  this  I have  told  about  ? Oh ! if 
there  be,  and  you  sometimes  hear  a Voice  speak- 
ing to  you,  be  sure  you  pay  good  heed  to  it ; 
and  so  may  God  love  you ! 


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Or  Woman’s  Mission ; being  Familiar  Letters  to  a Young  Lady  on  her 
Amusements,  Employments,  Studies,  Acquaintances,  male  and  fe- 
male, Friendships,  &c.,  by  Dr.  William  A.  Alcott,  12mo.  muslin,  75 
The  Same— gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, . ...  1 50 

YOUNG  MAN’S  BOOK, 

Or,  Self-Education,  by  Eev.  Wm.  Hosmer,  12mo.  muslin 75 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 1 50 

YOUNG  LADY’S  BOOK, 

Or,  principles  of  Female  Education,  by  Eev.  Wm.  Hosmer,  12mo. 

muslin, 75 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides 1 50 

WESLEY  OEEERING, 

By  Eev.  D.  Holmes,  IGmo 75 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 1 50 

SUMMEREIELD,  OR  LIFE  ON  THE  FARM, 

By  Eev.  Day  Kellogg  Lee,  16mo 1 00 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  fulbgilt  sides, 2 00 

GOLDEN  STEPS  EOR  THE  YOUNG, 

To  Usefulness,  Eespectabilty  and  Happiness,  by  John  Mather 
Austin,  author  of  “Voice  to  Youth,”  &c.,  12mo.  muslin,  steel  fron- 
tispiece,   75 

The  Same — gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 1 50 

POEMS  OE  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS, 

On  Religion  and  Society,  with  notices  of  his  life  and  character, 

12mo..  muslin, 50 

The  Same — gilt  edge, 75 

SILVER  CUP  OE  SPARKLING  DROPS, 

From  many  Foimtains,  by  Miss  C.  B.  Porter,  12m o.  muslin 75 

The  Same— gilt  edge  and  full  glit  sides, 1 6C 

THE  AMERICAN  ORATOR’S  OWN  BOOK, 

Omnpiled  by  John  Agar.  12mo. 1 00 


MILLER  ORTON  do  MULLIGAN,  PUBLISH 


LIFE  OF  GENERAL  LAFAYETTE, 

By  P.  0.  Headley,  12mo.  with  a portrait,  uniform  with  Headley’s 
Josephine,  muslin, 1 25 

LIFE  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS, 

Sixth  President  of  the  United  States,  by  William  H.  Sewapd, 

12mo.  muslin, 1 25 

LIFE  OF  LOUIS  KOSSUTH, 

Governor  of  Hungary,  by  P.  0.  Headley,  with  an  Introduction  by 
Hokace  Geeeley,  one  vol.  12mo.  muslin, 1 24 

LIFE  OF  GENERAL  ZACHARY  TAYLOR, 

Twelfth  President  of  the  United  States,  by  H.  Montgomery,  12mo. 
muslin, 1 00 

LIFE  OF  WINFIELD  SCOTT, 

By  E.  D.  Mansfield,  illustrated,  12mo.  muslin,  1 25 

LIFE  OF  GENERAL  FRANK  PIERCE, 

Fourteenth  President  of  the  United  States,  by  D.  W.  Bartlett, 

12mo.  muslin, 75 

GENERALS  OF  THE  LAST  WAR 

With  Great  Britain,  with  portraits  of  Generals  Brown,  Macomb, 

Scott,  Jackson,  Harrison  and  Gaines,  by  John  S.  Jenkins,  muslin, 

12mo 1 25 

LIVES  OF  JAMES  MADISON  AND  JAMES  MONROE, 

By  J.  Q.  Adams,  12mo.  muslin, 1 00 

LIFE  OF  ANDREW  JACKSON, 

President  of  the  United  States,  by  John  S.  Jenkins,  muslin  12mo.  1 25 

VOICE  TO  THE  YOUNG, 

Or,  Lectures  for  the  Times,  by  W.  W.  Patton.  12mo.  muslin,  ....  62 

MISSIONARY  OFFERING, 

A Memorial  of  Christ’s  Messengers  in  Heathen  Lands,  dedicated  to 
Dr.  Judson,  8 engravings,  12mo.  muslin, 1 00 

PURE  GOLD, 

Or,  Truth  in  its  Native  Loveliness,  by  Eev.  D.  Holmes,  muslin,  1 00 

METHODIST  PREACHER, 

Containing  28  Sermons  upon  Doctrinal  Subjects,  by  Bishop  Hed- 
ding,  Dr.  Fisk,  Dr.  Bangs,  Dr.  Durbin,  and  other  eminent  preach- 
ers of  the  M.  E.  Church,  octavo, 1 00 

EPISCOPAL  METHODISM  AS  IT  WAS  AND  IS, 

Being  a History  of  the  M.  E.  Church  in  the  United  States,  &c.,  by 
Eev.  P.  Douglass  GorfvIe,  12mo.  muslin, 1 00 

AVES  OF  EMINENT  METHODIST  MINISTERS, 

By  Eev.  P.  Douglass  Gorrie,  12m o.  muslin 1 25 


MILLER,  ORTON  d:  MULLIGAN,  RUBJJSH 


FEEN  LEAVES  FROM  FAITIT/’S  POBTFOLIO, 

Muslin  gilt,  8 engravings,  400  pp.,  12iiio., 1 25 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 00 

LITTLE  FERNS  FOR  FANNY’S  LITTLE  FRIENDS, 

Muslin  gilt,  6 engravings,  300  pp.,  16mo, 75 

The  Sajmb — muslin,  gilt  edge, 1 00 

LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE, 

Emperor  of  France,  by  J.  G.  Lockhart,  fine  portrait,  12mo.  muslin,  1 25 
The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 

LIFE  OF  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

First  Wife  of  Napoleon,  by  P.  C.  Headley,  with  portrait,  12mo. 

muslin, 1 25 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 

LIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON, 

First  President  of  the  United  States,  by  Jared  Sparks,  LL.  D.,  12mo. 

muslin,  new  and  fine  edition,  with  portrait, 1 50 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides,. 2 50 

LIVES  OF  MARY  AND  MARTHA  WASHINGTON, 

Mother  and  Wife  of  George  Washington,  by  Margaret  C.  Conk- 

ling,  wdth  a portrait,  16mo.  muslin, 75 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 1 50 

LIFE  OF  REV.  ADONIRAM  JUDSON, 

Of  the  Burman  Mission,  by  J.  Clement,  with  portrait,  12mo.  muslin,  1 00 
The  Same — ^muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 00 

LIVES  OF  THE  THREE  MRS.  JUDSONS, 

By  Arabella  M,  Willson,  with  portraits,  12mo.  muslin, 1 00 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 00 

LIFE  OF  LADY  JANE  GREY, 

Steel  portrait,  1 vol.  16mo.  muslin,  by  D.  W.  Bartlett, 1 00 

The  Same— gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 00 

LIFE  OF  HENRY  CLAY, 

Of  Kentucky,  by  Horace  Greeley  and  Epes  Sergeant,  12mo, 
muslin,  1 25 

The  Same — muslin,  gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 

LIFE  OF  CHRIST  AND  HIS  APOSTLES, 

A new  edition,  pica  type,  by  Eev.  J.  Fleetwood,  12mo.  muslin,  1 25 
The  Same — gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 

JOHN  BUNYAN’S  PILGRIM’S  PROGRESS, 

Pica  type,  seven  illustrations,  12mo.  muslin,  (a  new  and  fine  edition,)  1 25 
The  Same — gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 

NOBLE  DEEDS  OF  AMERICAN  WOMEN, 

Edited  by  J.  Clement  and  Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney,  12mo.  muslin,  1 25 
The  Same — gilt  edge  and  full  gilt  sides, 2 25 


> 


DATE  DUE 


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DEMCO,  INC.  38-2931 


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